


New Earth Operation

by MozuTheMochi



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Boys Kissing, Creek is too romantic, Crime Fighting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Handholding, Love/Hate, M/M, Nose Kissing, Romance, Science Fiction, Style is from bromance to lovers, Superpowers, badass butters to the rescue, he steals kenny’s heart, help me, hugs and kisses, no beta we die like men, poor kenny, praises and headpatting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MozuTheMochi/pseuds/MozuTheMochi
Summary: After a tragedy which took third quarter of the population fifty years, Earth was never the same as before. Now, humans have to deal living with the evolution full of new species and human hybrids. With the chaos brewing around and people adapting to new situations, rise a society which decides to stop crimes and settle the world affairs.Then, entered the lives of university students who thrive their alternate identities as superheroes as well.Stan and Token became one to heal from past wounds.Kyle, Tweek and Clyde did in order to search for their identity even further.Cartman for the fame.Kenny rather hurt himself than having the criminals lay a finger towards his beloved sister.And Craig? He’s a loyalist to one person.——————A cyberpunk superhero AU inspired by The Themis Files by Sylvain Neuvel.OCs are included.Arc I : A Problem With Vigilantism is out.





	1. Character Profiles

**Author's Note:**

> Thoroughly inspired by Sleeping Giants and Waking Gods, I always thought what’s going to be its aftermath and I want to connect to the elements SPFBW has.
> 
> The alignments of characters are not entirely followed from the original profile. I couldn’t really connect why Butters have to be Chaotic Evil. Instead, my reference is from easydamus.com/alignment.html .
> 
> Edit (5/2/2017) : I put Mitch Conner but he won’t be a hand puppet of course.
> 
> Rules of entering OC :  
> 1\. One person per OC  
> 2\. Providing art to show how your OC looks like is okay, but do not steal art which is not yours to use it in my story.  
> 3\. Be creative

Peaceful wasn’t the thing to describe Earth back then, it was hectic — wars amongst each other, climate issues and dumb, foolish people in the Internet trying to spread hate and nihilism.

But at the very least, Earth was nothing but a place full of ordinary people. Of course, there were bound to have war here and there, but within several to most countries, instead of dwelling critical issues; humans were thriving with their own issues.

Friendships to be tested, heartbreaks to deal, school matters, job crisis. This was the life back then, back when everything was normal.

It was certainly not the same when humanity was almost wiped out from their own abode, their own planet. Some who survived and grew from back then clearly remembered as one entity changed the entire world. And fifty years after the recovery, Earth was no longer the same. Even with the dwindled society begins to increase, the impact from the alienated, metallic beast is huge to the whole world. Chaos brewing up in most nations once again, order is disrupted and people are fighting their way to create a normal community once again. But with new species and human hybrids with odd abilities are scampering around, how are they going to return back to how it was fifty years ago?

* * *

 

**Character Sheet**

**Registered Superhero**

* Tupperware, Alias : Token Black, Lawful Good — at the age of sixteen, he caught himself in a freak accident which paralyses half of his body. Fortunately, with his family’s wealth, the paralysed limbs were replaced with mechanical enhancements that also gives him new abilities. As a cyborg, Token registers himself as a hero to fight crime; Power : Cyborg Abilities  
* Human Kite, Alias : Kyle Broflovski, Neutral Good — once human but caught himself involving in a manic experiment which alters humans’ DNA. His was fused with a Kite Alien which turns him to a hybrid with the standard Kite Alien abilities. Despite the changed to his physical stats, it doesn’t stop him from law school while learning his way to be a superhero; Power : Solar and Wind Energy  
* Toolshed, Alias : Stan Marsh, Neutral Good — Stan discovered his power when he almost got himself killed in shop class one day. Now, Stan uses his father’s tools for both his superhero career and mechanical engineering studies; Power : Knowledge To Power Tools  
* Mosquito, Alias : Clyde Donovan, Neutral Good — Unlike everyone else, Clyde was originally born as a hybrid of hunter and vampire but kept it as a secret. Being a superhero is hard for him, having to lurk in the dark alleyways to hunt for blood. Not to mention the power he cultivates is much grosser than the rest of his bloodline, equipping the abilities of mosquitoes; Power : Regeneration When Consuming Blood  
* Fastpass, Alias : Jimmy Valmer, Lawful Good — Jimmy might be crippled, but after receiving some bionic implants, he gained super speed. Whilst being a hero at day, he is also working as an internet comedian; Power : Super Speed  
* Doctor Timothy, Alias : Timothy Burch, Lawful Good — More of a mastermind and a strategist in the agency, although paralysed, Timothy could bring one’s knees down through his mind control and telepathy, Power : Mind Manipulation  
* Call Girl, Alias : Wendy Testaburgers, Lawful Good — After breaking up with Stan, she put use her telecommunication skills to avenge herself from her past boyfriend at first. After a while, she discovers her skill is helpful against society that she decides to join the agency as a registered hero and a paid informant; Power : Networking  
* Captain Diabetes, Alias : Scott Malkinson, Lawful Good — Scott has been diabetic since he was small and he actually hates that fact a lot, but he learns his diabetes actually gives him super strength at most times, granted he has to take insulin a while later; Power : Super Strength

**Vigilante**

* Mysterion, Alias : Kenny McCormick, True Neutral — Raised in the poor streets of Denver, Kenny strive to wipe out the crime in his hometown to protect the one and only person he cares about : Karen McCormick. A Netherborn at natural, he views his immortality as a curse but uses his powers for his own good; Power : Immortality  
* Super Craig, Alias : Craig Tucker, True Neutral — Although appearing uncaring toward world’s affairs and current issues, he becomes a vigilante just to aid his boyfriend’s discovery upon his powers. Most of the time, he lurks somewhere else when Tweek isn’t bothering to do a hero pursuit, nevertheless he is the strongest when it comes to strength; Power : Super Strength  
* Wonder Tweek, Alias : Tweek Tweak, Chaotic Good — Only recently, Tweek was hit by lightning which made a reaction to the high level of caffeine in his body, he suddenly is able to control the weather. Although scared upon the new discovery of his superpowers, Craig and he decides to try on vigilantism to make use of their abilities; Power : Weather Control  
* Coon, Alias : Eric Cartman, Chaotic Evil who claimed to be Chaotic Neutral — Kicked out from the hero agency, Cartman decides to dwell back into vigilantism only to actually get his ass back into the agency (and also to avenge his position from the higher-ups). Now he spends most of his time trying to intervene the registered heroes’ work whilst busying himself with the current affairs as well, Power : None, uses makeshift claws instead

**Villain**

* Professor Chaos, Alias : Leopold ‘Butters Stotch’, True Neutral who claims to be Chaotic Evil — Butters happened to be an outcast back in high school. In order to survive in the real world and to show that he’s no longer plain, naive Butters, he decides to create an alternative alias as Professor Chaos. Despite his schemes and whatnot, Chaos does not realise he actually holds a superpower, Power : Electromagnetism  
* General Dissaray, Alias : Dougie O’Connell, Neutral Evil — Not much is known about Dougie, only the fact that he is Chaos’ sidekick and he is actually still in high school. Dougie’s slightly a nerd, but he’s pretty good at manipulating some people into his side too, Power : Unknown

* Mitch Conner, Chaotic Evil — Unknown information of a person. He started as a scammer in the internet, but his influence seems to spread amongst humans against hybrids and aliens.

**Retired Hero**

* Captain Hindsight, Alias : Jack Brolin, True Neutral — After retiring from hero work by removing his powers completely, Jack opts to return back as a news reporter. Back then, a radioactive spider suddenly interferes with his self-experiments, resulting on him able to foresee an event before it happens. He stops his work because of its pressure, Power : Perfect 20/20 Hindsight

**Citizens**

* Bebe Stevens, Neutral Good — A design student who practices making clothing for the superheroes. She is Wendy’s housemate for the time being.  
* Ike Broflovski, Chaotic Good — Human’s Kite younger brother. Despite being way younger than Kyle, he advances to college faster due to his intelligence. He is also a Law student in Berkeley.  
* Karen McCormick, Lawful Good — Mysterion’s younger sister who he vows to protect. She’s working part time in Harbucks to gain extra cash for the family. Often tending to her brother’s wounds, she vows to become a nurse after graduation.  
* Tricia Ruby Tucker, True Neutral — Super Craig’s younger sister who keeps his secrets on vigilantism. She even goes far to joining the school’s news editorial board to steer her brother’s or his boyfriend’s names from any reports.  
* Randy Marsh, Chaotic Neutral — Stan’s dad who pretty much got caught in most affairs because he wants to. Other than that, he’s a pretty okay guy if not a little too alcoholic.

*  Heidi Turner, Lawful Good — Cartman’s girlfriend who is unexpectedly still loyal towards him despite his treatment. Nowadays, Heidi’s working as a waitress than entering college due to the tight budget she and Cartman are pulling off. She is also Wendy’s housemate for the time being.

* * *

 

**OC REQUESTS**

Since the lack of female involvement in the game and whatnot, I request OCs from you all. This is not first come, first serve — I will pick the best five or six which fits into this story.

Sending male OCs are fine, but I do need female ones for now. If you want to use the South Park characters and provide me ideas is fine too, that will be nice.

In order to send me your OC, please fill this form and post it in comments :

Hero Name :  
Alias :  
Gender :  
Alignment :  
Appearance :  
Character History :  
Power :  
Role (Registered Hero/Vigilante/Villain) :

Remember, your OC might not be the main and so, but I will provide you several scenes and highlists as appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this new project of mine. I hope you enjoy the character sheets so far.
> 
> Feel free to enter your OCs! Get wild with imagination!


	2. Trailer #1 : Super Craig and Wonder Tweek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trailer No. 1!
> 
> Take a look at Craig’s and Tweek’s side of heroism!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I’m going to be busy until the end of March, all I’m capable of doing are short trailers to aid the activeness of this fic mwahaha
> 
> Thanks for the OCs so far! Please don’t stop working on it, and don’t post the form in other chapters as well.
> 
> Also, I have this inspiration from one art I found in Pinterest. I want to post it here to show you how their costumes would be, granted I sort of follow the art but I don’t know the artist. You know Pinterest, sometimes they post without credits there. So I feel bad about it. But I want to show it too. What do you think?

Lakewood happens to be too small of a town for vigilantism. The folks are nice though, few rednecks here and there, spending most of their time drinking in bars, smoking or listening to town gossips. The normal humans are trying their best to accept the human hybrids mingling with them, not so kindly but in Lakewood, they try not to care (most of them). Located in the midst of cold Colorado, there seems to be two young men lurking in every alleys of the town — surveying the streets from breakdown, judging few humans who occasionally pick fights with human hybrids and alienated species.

In Craig’s perspective, he couldn’t care less about the skirmishes and arguments happening in between two sides. Not that any of those humans would dare lay a finger on him and his boyfriend anyway. Last time they did, the two of them were only fourteen; and somehow he ended up having a group of ten in a hospital. That was when he discovered he wasn’t as normal as others perceived him to be. But it didn’t make any differences to him after all, it wasn’t like he wanted to be a hero in the first place. Instead, his purpose of being a petty vigilante is only because Tweek.

It happened all way back two months ago, in one rainy day. . . He had been devastated that the blond was rendered unconscious for two weeks. And when he woke up on the hospital bed, Tweek felt extremely frightened that he ended up shooting an icicle to the nurse’s leg. From that day on, the weather in Lakewood had been entirely odd. The changes became abrupt, seeming to mimic whatever Tweek was feeling. When he was happy, the never-too-sunny town suddenly increased in temperature. When he was panicky and anxious which led him to depressed thoughts, it was a heavy downpour which flooded the streets. And when he was angry — nobody should make Tweek angry, Super Craig concluded — the small town of Lakewood almost got crushed by a strong thunderstorm, the theatre was struck down by lightning which set the whole place in flames. Until now, the folks installed a 60in plasma TV in one of the bars to use as a makeshift cinema.

Over the weeks, it was Craig who took upon himself to aid the blond to control his powers. It started with controlling the exaggerating emotions Tweek had to training the blond to summon his weather powers without the induce of feelings.

And two months later, although it isn’t as perfect, it certainly is better. Tweek is almost as good in fighting just like the noirette. Craig doesn’t want to admit it, but the vigilantism work is fun whenever Tweek is around. It just gets better.

Electricity buzzes to life when night crawls into town, replacing darkness to day. Wonder Tweek whirls up wind that gushes them to the rooftop, the blond landing gracefully whilst aiding to the taller man. The two of them have matching jumpers, a dark navy with letters of their initials imprinted on them, zippers in between. Tweek dons himself with a rubber band tugging at the wild, golden mane — the upper locks becoming tousled upon the placement; and he has a pair of brown gloves and a black mask. Super Craig has a similar mask as well, but his black gloves aids him with his strong punches, multiplying his strength with its metallic brace at the area of his knuckles.

The two watches the opposite side of street as three older men seems to be dragging a human hybrid with brute force. The hybrid happens to be a little girl — looking no more than twelve — crying her lungs out just because her skin colour is a bright pink hue.

“Th-that’s just unfair!” Tweek could feel disgust welling in his gut, collecting every bit of anger which would derive chemicals in his body into the electricity running in his bloodstream, “H-How racist could anyone be? She, g-gah, she still looks human. R-Right, Super Craig?”

“Exactly,” the noirette snickers at the sight he’s watching. He, too, feels disgusted but opts to remain silent about it. “Let’s corner them once they enter that alley,” he points at their direction, a bunch of men pulling the girl’s wrist and leading her to the dark corner. “It’s too good of an opportunity,” he sighs, “How dumb could they be sometimes.”

“N-Nobody is as smart as you, isn’t that right,” it’s a sassy response, and Wonder Tweek is left giggling by his side.

The noirette scoffs at his remark but nudge the shorter male fondly, and pinches at one cheek. “Don’t tease me, honey, or you’ll get something you can’t resist later.” He grins at the sound of it, enjoying the thoughts of what they could do after finishing their small business.

Tweek mirrors his smile, cheerfully. “Who w-wouldn’t what that, Super Craig?”

* * *

 

From the opposite side, the men are struggling with the hybrid girl. One who seems much younger than his friends, wearing a gold chain dangling on his neck and a dirty white shirt, clamps a hand against her lips, drowning any possible screams which could catch anyone’s attentions in the streets. They are aware after all; Lakewood might be nothing but it doesn’t mean silence all around. The other two, a capped one and one fully masked, pull both of her arms, trying to stop her foolish struggles as they drag her to their van parked in the alley.

“How much do you think she’s worth, ey? A thousand grand would do good for her,” one man clicks her tongue, eyeing the pitiful state of girl, tongue lolling out to lick his chapped lips before pulling a crooked grin.

“No man, they said she can glow up in whole darkness. I say, we raise to twenty!” The one who responds lets out a guffaw, gleeful at their prized possession. They ignore the whimpers from the cowering girl, who is now too weak to fight back.

As the three of them busies themselves with their petty talk, they did not realise two figures slipping to a closer distance. Wonder Tweek slips past the small gather and rushes to hide behind bricked wall. He ushers his partner who stands on high ground, figure looming the illuminating moonlight.

Though with distracted attentions, the hybrid seems to realise the other presences and she seems to release a louder whimper, causing the men to get annoyed with her.

“Shut yer trap, ye filthy animal! Ye don’t have the right to fucking speak!” The man donning a cap raises his hand as if to hit her, but before he could lay a finger, a certain elementalist shoots out a thunderbolt towards the capped man. He lets out a short yelp before landing flat to the ground, tongue lolling out and eyes rolls back to the sockets.

By now, the accomplices realises his hideout. Unfortunately for them, one of them rushes to the van (it is pretty close to them) and hurls a shotgun to his friend. Despite the frantic rush, the gold chained one sets a pretty good aim to Wonder Tweek. He manages to evade the blow, rolling to the other side before blowing another bullet away with a fleeting breeze. Meanwhile, Super Craig jumps from above and lands directly towards the masked one, he gathers every ounce of his strength and lands a blow at his cheek. The man drops unconscious with just one hit — how pathetic.

Wonder Tweek hurls another shot to the younger one, but the man seems to be flexible in speed. He, too, manages to roll away from the prickling bolts that send his friends to their (unknown) demise whilst firing his shotgun at him. Alas for him, Tweek succeeds on planting one of his foot with ice — and that’s when Super Craig decides to end up the fight with a low jab at his gut.

The blond, petrified at the fact it was a straight hit just then, screams slightly at the horrified state. “Oh — Oh my God, S-Super Craig, d-did I killed him?! Did you kill the other g-guys too?”

“Relax, they’re just knocked out.”

“Sh-Should we call the police?”

Before Craig could answer, the two of them freezes as they heard a chuckle from one of the men. The vigilantes turn to face the youngest member, even with blood trailing down from his mouth, he’s still laughing like a maniac.

“You think you’re doing justice with that hero bullshit,” he cackles, “Don’t think this is a small matter you’re involving yourselves into, stupid kids,” the two hardens their glare at the pitiful man, “This ain’t over. It’s just about to start. . .” The man seems to have his phone taken out from his pockets, and before he could slip into unconsciousness, he presses something on the screen.

“Wh-What’s that supposed to mean???” Super Craig could feel the air turning colder. Suddenly, what seems to be the vapour around turns to small icicles which surround the blond. Tweek’s freaking out again, pulling and tugging golden locks with sheer anxiety.

The noirette peels his hands from his hair, and takes his chance to kiss the tip of the blond’s nose. “Calm down, Wonder Tweek,” he hushes the blond, “We’ll sort this thing together.”

“Y-Yeah. . .”

The two of them focus back on the scene. The hybrid girl still lies on the ground, shaky legs too weak to move. Her large, neon eyes watch as the two communicates. Even with her cowers, she seems to have calmed herself down.

“You okay?” Super Craig asks, tugging his chullo as if trying to tip a greeting kind of language. The blond watches from a side glance and smiles at his adorable antic.

The girl, still enthralled, could only nod meekly.

The police arrives any time later, and the two decides to leave before the authorities spot them with hero costumes and black masks. They did told the girl to keep their small rescue a little secret between them, to which she happily agrees.

Super Craig and Wonder Tweek return back to their patrol, to the southern area of Lakewood where the clubs run wild in the night. There are bounds to be harassments and thieves at this point of hour.

The blond have been quiet since their run, and Craig taps his shoulder as a recognition. “You okay, honey?” He asks, concern etching at the lines of his forehead. Wonder Tweek smiles, but the genuine does not reaches the green pools sparkling amidst the dark. “Everything will be fine, Tweek. If it isn’t, I’ll still be here for you.” He holds out a hand, and the blond blinks rapidly with confusion then takes it willingly.

“Thanks, Craig.” The blond pulls himself closer to the noirette’s side, and he nudges Craig’s shoulder with his own lovingly.

With his wind ability, he flies the two of them to the higher ground once again. The two vigilantes share affectionate looks, and with fingers entwining together, they are not afraid to what the new world could offer them in the future.

Together, they are a wonder.

 


	3. Trailer #2 : Toolshed and Human Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trailer No.2!
> 
> Kyle’s backstory and the formation of a good team!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This trailer is somewhat long too, and I like writing this a lot. There’s a lot of scenes that I wanna cover, but stop because it’s supposed to be a preview of some sort.
> 
> Anyway, I’m only posting four trailers - next one is Kenny and Butters, then we’ll take a look at everyone in general! I wanna highlight the rest too but then it won’t be a trailer anymore ahahahaha
> 
> PPS, if someone knows a good source to write cyberpunk sceneries do post in comments! I’m still learning ;w;
> 
> And thanks for the registrations! Y’all are the best, I swear!!! But really, so many vigilantes though ;w; I appreciate some registered heroes as well hahahaha

He can feel the stares prickling against his back like daggers. Each time he passes the hallway, half-walking all the way to his lecture hall, there are bound to be eyes watching after every steps he takes. It makes him feel uneasy, living the kind of life he never asks but have to suck it up anyways.

It has been exactly five years seven months since Kyle Broflovski isn’t much human after all. He never asks to be a part alien, much less to be involved in any kind of strange bullshit. He has enough of bullshit treatment due to being the only person who doesn’t celebrate this weird holiday called Christmas back in elementary, and after the incident, the pure humans started treating him worst.

When he was thirteen, young and innocent Kyle was walking back home because of some stupid detention he received which caused him to miss the last bus. From his own two ears, he did noticed a rumbling sound similar to a vehicle’s engine nearby but there wasn’t a sight of any — not even hovercars which makes smaller sounds to the traditional pickup trucks. Thirteen-year old Kyle knew there was bound to be something wrong with the presence of such and all, he continued walking but with a faster pace. His heavy trudges slowly turning lighter and lighter, feet rose higher with each steps he took as he started to run from the enigma.

Even so, it was too late for thirteen-year old Kyle to be saved. He hated the path winding from his school to the cranky, old part of town his family decided to live in was always, always deserted. Despite the audibility of his voice, screaming with full force which echoed to forsaken, nobody was there to help him. Kyle remembers arms grabbing his frail, young body and the metallic vehicle glitched to visibility for a split second — one door sliding open to pull the kid inside — before the force field regenerated and it blipped away from existence.

When Kyle woke up for the first time, he realised he was hooked up in several IVs and wires. A breathing mask clasped on his mouth, he could feel the strap tight against the back of his head. As he groaned, bubbles slipped through the white, solid oxygen supplier — Kyle realised he was contained in some sort of tank. He was in some sort of lab, with people flying about — wearing white masks and have odd markings on their upper half of faces, scribbling and communicate amongst each other, tapping unknown buttons and pulling random levers. The whole space was stark white as well, bare walls and ceilings, it was driving Kyle mad. With panic bubbling in his chest, shrilled screams drowned in blue water, the boy knocked and struggled until his fatigue caused him to slip unconscious once again. He couldn’t really remembered what happened afterwards.

People said it was nine months and a half when he woke up fully once again. This time, the ginger clearly remembered that he was in an entirely different place. A place with familiar colours, at least, as he gazed upon the space before knowing that it was his bedroom. That was the first thing.

Second matter was, he noticed his body getting light. At some point, it felt like gravity never pulled him to Earth in the first place. And that the ceiling seemed closer to his face more than usual.

Kyle looked down to see the fact that he was, indeed, floating.

“JESUS CHRIST!!!” He yelped and thrashed his arms. The rapid motion caused him to drop to the ground, for a brief while, he could feel his weight regaining the sensation to his figure before he felt the drop of gravity pull once again. He tugged the railing of his bed, frantically calling to somebody — mom, dad. . . Ike. “Maaa!!! Maaaaa!!!!” Kyle cried, his legs floating upwards causing his body to topple upside down.

Footsteps trudging to his room, heavy and loud to his suddenly sensitive hearing. His door flung open again, revealing both his parents and a small figure of his adopted brother trailing from the back.

“Bubba, you’re awake!” Sheila wore an expression of relief despite his state.

“I know — ack, why am I floating?!”

“You’ve been like that ever since the agency found you. That’s like, nine months ago,” Ike responded, rather nonchalantly whilst both his parents glanced at each other nervously. The three of them had walked closer and grabbed him by his waist to pin him down. Despite the relief, Kyle was more confused than ever.

“Wh-What do you mean by that?” He turned his green eyes to his Ma, then to Ike and to his father who looked as if contemplating on telling him the truth.

“Look, Kyle. . .” Gerald started, one finger hanging at the hems of his collar, “The people that kidnapped you, they — uh, they aren’t exactly human.”

“What?”

“Let me continue, Kyle,” he hardened his voice, “The agency told us they found you in the lair of some. . . alien species, and well they conduct experiments to your DNA which fused theirs and yours — is that right, Ike?” The younger boy nodded without hesitation, “And well, ever since we found you floating and stuffs, the agency concluded that you’re not a hundred percent human anymore.”

The words were heavy as they registered to Kyle. He wasn’t a fool to not think of the consequences afterwards. He knew what was coming to him — the treatments, the stupid judgments, the hatred towards differences. The number of oddities in Boulder only takes one fourth of the whole population after all.

“Come on, Bubba. That doesn’t mean we’ll stop loving you, sweetie. You’re still our son, right Gerald?” Sheila grabbed him gently by his wrist, pulling him until his feet reached the carpeted floor. The disappointment did not fully wiped from his face, but it was less evident. Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like crying.

Kyle let out a weak “ _Okay_ ,” as he let his family guided him outside his room.

* * *

 

It took a while for him to train his weight — his Ma wrapped up a load which kept him at bay — or the entirety of his powers. He discovered that floating wasn’t just his ability, but it was the fact that he could control the wind pressure around him.

Kyle had his luck when Stan didn’t freak out like any other people in school. In fact, the noirette told him a secret he never told anyone before — that he wasn’t exactly as human as he thought he would be as well.

“You mean you knew since grade school?”

“Yeah, kinda. . . I mean, I was almost killed by the chainsaw. I remembered closing my eyes, like in my mind I was thinking maybe it is the end. But when I opened my eyes, the saw blade stopped — like, like it’s hesitating to move. And somehow I found out I could control these things.”

“Sick, dude!” Kyle beamed, “Why’d you keep it from me?” His eyes shifted from a sparkle gleam to a tedious dull, as if hurt by the secret.

Stan replied almost quickly, “I wanted to! But I got scared, Kyle. What if you think I’m weird?”

“People already think I’m weird enough! And that’s just because I don’t celebrate this stupid Christmas holiday!” Kyle pouted, “I’d be happier to have a weird buddy with me,” he nudged his elbow to the noirette cheekily, and laughed out a small snort.

The two exchanged glances, Stan’s blue eyes to Kyle’s green and the two laughed at their sheer stupidity.

“Welp, guess that makes us a team,” Stan offered.

Kyle blinked at the notion of his invite, but then decided that the chance of exploration would be wide if they were to make use of what they could do. He responded the noirette with a smile, “Yeah.”

Back in the real time, Kyle notices a thudding sound behind him. A noirette stands a few inches taller than him, retrieving back the tape which helps him descend to the ground. Stan smiles and waves, keeping the tape at the back of his pocket. Kyle raises an inquiry expression at him, arching his brows questioningly. “What’s with that smile?” The ginger retorts.

“Boss comm-ed me,” he states, still smiling, “Looks like we’ll be busy tonight.”

“What kind of mission?”

“Not my kind of job, unfortunately,” the engineering student sighs in defeat, shoulders stoop, feigning a disappointed body language. Stan really masters in team battling, not the snooping, solo kind. Which is why he always has to be teamed up with someone else. “Intel gathering. Or whatever proof that we can get from this guy named Chaos.”

“Chaos,” Kyle snorts, “What a cheesy name,” bright green eyes roll at the sound of the official name. Chaos — it seems obvious this guy wants to be a villain.”

Stan could not stop his laughter, “Dude, don’t judge! What about you, huh, Kiteman. Sounds so much similar to fucking Cartman —“

“Oh, nope _no no no no_ — do not call me that, Stanley Marsh. It’s Human fucking Kite, not Kiteman — and don’t remind me of that bastard once again.”

“Chill out, he’s gone now. We’re at peace.”

Kyle sighs. He hates remembering about Cartman and his stupid schemes and his not-so-heroic demeanour. One thing about Cartman that everybody knows in the agency is that he is nowhere near heroic at all, other than being a selfish, egoistical son of a bitch. “I know,” Kyle responds.

Kyle reaches his class sooner than Stan who is heading to his mech lab at the other side of building. The ginger and the noirette bid each other their farewells, and when they meet again — there is no longer any simple flannel, madras shirts or collar tees; but the synthetic fibre and nylon strappings and serge which makes up most parts of their costumes.

* * *

 

Dusk reaches quicker than they expect. The city of Brooklyn still buzzes with life despite the moon that crawls out from its horizon. The fifty years evolution turns Brooklyn once from a classic diverse of architecture from mold crownings to suburban ranches to the modernised constructions are now in shift to the metallic hubs of newfound metals and coloured glass structures, train tracks connecting to most edifices.

Kyle fixes the large curls that mops the entirety of his hair, he hates how the ginger mane of his falls in wavy cascades like a girl — if Bebe Stevens is to cut her hair short and colour to the bright red shade he has. He hates it, too, when his hair gets in the way of his eyes inside his helmet, it always becomes too difficult to do a hair fixing in such critical moments. The sight he holds, standing on an eighty-four storey high-rise gives him this sort of adrenaline rush, the excitement pooling in his gut; and Kyle knows when he drops his body, he won’t die.

“You’re early,” a voice pipes in, and reveals Toolshed in his own form of suit. The designer gives him a pretty much straightforward look — sort of a mechanic workwear jumpsuit, zipper on the front, light grey in colour with a neon orange strap that holds most of his tools. The jumpsuit has many pockets to aid his numerous possessions, but it isn’t as baggy as the normal ones you found in construction sites, a pair of construction goggles and black gloves fitting to his hands. His hero badge situates itself neatly on the right side of his chest, Kyle’s at the centre. “Oh cool, your kite —“

“I summoned a stronger one,” Kyle taps the yellow diamond-shapes kite strapped against his back, smiling. “It’s a better shield now.”

“Bulletproof?”

“Laserproof.”

“Sick.”

Kyle, or Human Kite to be exact, grins before dropping the curl on his lips a minute later when they decide their friendly gaze-exchange lasts a bit too longer than expected. Toolshed closes the gap between them, standing side by side that their shoulders are brushing. The ginger points out to the building next to them, a sleek high-rise building which serves as an office with tinted glass panes. Even when it isn’t night time, the glass doesn’t provide a sight to the interior, instead reflecting back to the building they are currently standing.

“I asked Call Girl,” Human Kits starts, his eyes shift to Toolshed briefly upon stating his ex’s hero name, but somehow the noirette keeps a collected face, “She reported that some of Chaos’ minions might have worked here, and from the seventy-seventh floor, one of the PCs gather a data about Chaos’ next invasion. If we have the full intel, we could stop his plan.”

“This sounds easy for a two-person mission,” the noirette gives him an odd look, “Don’t you think?”

“I — I don’t know. We weren’t given a full brief on this one, Boss just sends an extra for precaution,” he huffs, then smiles at his own thought, “But hey, we’re still the best team out there.”

“Oh god, you’re getting cocky.”

“Shut up, Toolshed and get your ass to work. Well, we’re starting in an hour when sun fully sets,” the ginger prepares his kite, one foot stepping on the edge (Stan is not surprised), “See you on the other side,” he grins and jumps down from the building.

From afar, Toolshed blinks and groans at the fact that he is abandoned yet again. “What kind of a good team leaves their member behind?”


	4. Trailer #3 : Mysterion and Professor Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen loves watching Mysterion in battles. She doesn’t expect to get caught in one as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE WRITING THIS! IT’S SO FUN I SWEAR! But I still have a lot to learn about cyberpunk, nanopunk, biopunk. It’s so so fun!
> 
> And well, if you read this chapter, then you know why it’s love/hate or some shit. Really, I love menacing Butters but sometimes I feel like he’s still naive for this.
> 
> I love involving Karen! She’s pretty underrated, y’know. I imagine her and Kenny being all woogly-boo and nose-booping and nudging and pushing each other but she’ll care and look up to him like a god, and Karen is Kenny’s only angel. I swear.
> 
> Besides, a little warning : death
> 
> You know. It’s battle and stuffs after all.
> 
> Last but not least, your OCs. Oh my god. I love you all. I love your creativity, I love your effort. You’re all great AND I’M HELLA CONFLICTED ON WHO TO CHOOSE BECAUSE EVERYONE IS GOOD HNNN
> 
> This is the last trailer of two individuals before I post overall trailer and results.
> 
> So yeah. Stay cool, fellas!

Downtown of Denver is as bullshit as it could be, nothing but a garbage dump for dealers to trade their nasty business at each of the dark corners. The southern part of Denver isn’t fully recovered from the demise back then, old buildings from the early 2000s still peaked at best — but the concrete is now worn, square windows hollow like a skull’s eye socket. But for the ones who hung low in society; they could do nothing but suck up to their fates. The old is their abode, their Havana, their bane.

But to Karen McCormick, the downtown isn’t as bad as her brother claims it to be. The part of the particular state offers Santa Fe, the art hub that had been long dead since the event of 2025. The brunet is grateful that Denver is their home, not the wastelands like Kansas or Minnesota, as she heard from the buzzing holograms coming from her richer friends in school.

At least she could afford school.

Since the moment the community found out about her brother, Kenny, being a Netherborn — rumours said Netherborn consists of people with defects in their RNA, the chromosomes mixed up with the alien kind which somehow created 0.3% of population immortal — they did not fare the news very well. The humans have ridden the entire McCormick family from the main part of the city, only allowing Karen herself to have the facility of school. Kevin ran away from home a few years ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand the way they were living. They haven’t heard about him ever since.

At certain nights, the brunet loves watching as Kenny slips into the black spandex which is his suit, a dark leather belt looping around his waist and his cloak perches nicely on his shoulder and hangs lowly around his buttocks, the cape hidden a mass of dirty blond hair fairly well, along with a mask and gloves warming his hands. Most of all, Karen loves the question mark dangling on his head. It is his signature, his icon, his very identity to the robbers and dealers in the streets, the humans who beat up the innocent just because of oddities, they would not know the person they got rid of have been the one kicking their asses to jail. She loves the idea of an enigma. And so those particular nights, she slips onto her own black cloak— just a simple muslin cloth her mother has been keeping around to keep themselves warm in brutal winter climate — and roams the grounds with a forlorn-looking but functional bicycle.

Tonight, Kenny seems to head towards the main city area, able to access his way through the unguarded crook of the gates. Along the way, the brunet could see hybrids hanging low on their lifeline, sunken cheeks and frail body scattering through the old parts of the gate. One hybrid looks at her with yellow slitted eyes, seeming to snicker at her as she pulls out the access card and gives it to the guard. She is the only one who has the card after all, with her fingerprint in the system — not her Ma, not certainly her Pa, not Kenny. The guard is a burly, dour man of African-American descendant, flexing his broad shoulders as he opens the gate for her.

“What’chu up to around this hour, young lady?” he pries, but the curiosity does not seems to reach his dark eyes, more like he’s just trying to open up a conversation out of boredom.

“Homework,” Karen says smoothly, her voice small and polite, “Going to a friend’s house for homework.”

He gives her a ridiculous look, but says nothing nonetheless. The gate opens enough to slip her in, and for a moment, she could feel the ambience changes from the pitiful woes of dirty streets to the vivacious lush and eccentricity. Neon lights bring the world to colour, a vibrant green on the right, bubblegum pink lining up the left shop lots. Her frontal vision views the skylines scratching the midnight skies.

She notices a shadow hurrying down the lane to her right. _It must have been Mysterion_ , she thinks to herself and follows the mysterious figure from behind.

* * *

 

Kenny McCormick was merely fourteen when he decided to take actions to his own hand. His sister was all by her own, going to the uptown and mingling with the normal humans. The downtown part might be like a dead city, full of the lost hybrids littering about the walkways. But the uptown still offers as a hub of crime, hybrid trafficking, robberies, gang fights and serum trades going on about the vennels.

And so began his solo crime hunting at a young age. Once, he hooked up with Bebe Stevens at the start of high school in return for her to design him a suit. They dated for a year, but then Bebe decided to move to Boulder ever since the Stevens decided Denver was, indeed, a shit town to live in.

He couldn’t really blame the whole place itself, it was Colorado that serves as a protection hive to normal humans. Ever since the Eastern part of New America (once called United States of America, as history had stated) declared their support to hybrids and aliens in 2063, the whole nation seems to return on splitting up politically. Colorado, unfortunately, signed up to human support and the McCormick had to suck up their fates living in the distasteful place.

The skylines would be beautiful if he isn’t so aware about the secrets it holds. He founds himself gazing onto the tallest tower, a sleek deconstructivism architecture made of titanium steel and thin glass. The tower holds onto the signage of the government, two letters in polished metal which gives the meaning of Official Ministry, rising up to about hundred floors. He snickers at the beauty of it, knowing the contrast to what it holds in the inside and makes his move from roof to roof.

Kenny drops from the usual path to the lower ground once he reaches to the place. _Cat-As-Troph_ is a club which secrets are sold and passes from ear to ear easily. That is the place he knows to find crime, when one man or woman got drunk enough to have slippery lips. The dark setting gives him the advantage of remaining anonymous, coloured lights pass through his face occasionally. Kenny doesn’t drink, growing up with drunkards as parents taught him that. His Pa, especially, acts violent as hell once the booze gets into his head. He wouldn’t want that; Kenny is one with a pride of his own even with the strange blood in his system and the emptiness of his pockets.

He sits around at one spot, watching the waitresses clad in fishnet socks, skin tight suits and cat ears serving their customers. Voluptuous figures are their weapons, and their silky voices purring to seduction to most perverts. Kenny feels sick, but he knows most of these perverts are also the sick bastards as well.

The blond just did not expect a different kind of purr coming from the background. It is entirely different, a deeper growl than the feminine hushes, but lighter of tone than his own gruff speech. “You’re looking for something, aren’t you?” The stranger has spoken, and lightly chuckles at the sight of his confusion.

“Reveal yourself, _coward_ ,” Mysterion replies, though he speaks of nothing afterwards. The chuckles continues, but the blond notices the unknown shifts his weight to slither closer to his side. He feels his hairs prickling on the back of his neck, notices the chills starting to crawl against his skin.

“Wouldn’t be fun if it is that easy, ey?”

“Just be honest and say you’re not ready to confront me,” Mysterion snickers sardonically, but he keeps caution at bay.

“I don’t think you’d need my face to know who I am, _Mysterion_ ,” the stranger calls out his name, a low malice in his growl sending ripples to the blond’s body.

Mysterion bites back the insides of his cheeks. He feels like he knows who this person is, relishes the past memories, wanting to do nothing but crawl out of this hellhole and screams the fucking name.

“I thought you’re in — in Brooklyn,” he stammers, curses himself for it, “Your family, they’re —“

“Miami,” there is a certain roughness to the tone. Mysterion could feel his anger, somehow.

“How are they?” the blond sighs and continues after a long, thoughtful pause, “How are you?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing lately?”

“It’s been two years.”

“You never bother to care, don’tcha?”

Mysterion sucks in his breathe, wanting so much to break down, but he didn’t. “You don’t understand. . . I didn’t mean to leave you back then.”

He hears the figure snickers, but says nothing.

Being with his old. . . friend again somehow brings the tight squeeze in his chest. There’s a certain sadness he couldn’t really express. The booming music in the club is drowned by his sole existence. The Kenny inside him wants nothing more but to hold his hand and give him a long embrace, but he’s in a cape and a mask, he’s using another identity — right now, he’s not Kenny McCormick, just Mysterion.

“ _Chaos_ ,” a part of his longing drips in his voice, and he turns around to meet thin air. Perhaps Chaos has indeed left, perhaps he’s still in hiding. Nevertheless, Mysterion tries his best not to care.

He haven’t for two years.

Instead, his ear catches a slur from an older man speaking of something about a downtown girl. There has been a younger voice, one with sheer excitement and a lot less experience than the drunk.

“We caught _her_ , sir! She’s the one we’ve been looking for, the Netherborn —“

Before the young man could complete his sentence, he is sent flying to another part of the club. In that particular booth, wisps of dark purple shadows emitted around before forming the figure of a seething Mysterion. Fingers reaching to the old man’s collar and he grips tightly around the neck; dark blue eyes glow against the dim cast. The drunk seems to have regain his conscience, and he’s shaking uncontrollably by his grasp.

“N-N-Nether —“ he croaks.

“Where are they?” Mysterion grits his teeth. “Where’s my sister, fucker?”

The man seems to contemplate, but Mysterion raises his fist and that is when he blurts out in panic, “I — I DON’T KNOW! I just got t-t-the news, please sp-spare me I’m just —“ he shuts his mouth when his cellphone rings out of the blue. The blond spares him no chance and knocks his fist against his jaw and renders him unconscious before picking up the call.

It’s just his luck when the call is from one of his lackeys reporting about his sister’s whereabouts; “You better head to the north, sir! The girl’s within three blocks from Cat-As-Troph, the one with light brown hair and same blue eyes right, ay?”

He shuts the line immediately, not wanting to hear anymore and heads outside the club. The sound ebbs away as he distances himself from the club, the shadows bringing him as fast as he could.

“God, Karen. . .” he mutters to himself, “Please, be safe.”

* * *

 

Karen is, indeed, in big trouble.

All she ever wants is to follow her brother, to witness him fighting crime in the greatest way possible. She wants to see the shadows enveloping his body as people claim to see, she wants to see the cool martial arts he learns from the holographic ads they could manage to find downtown.

She never expects herself to be surrounded by mean-looking men, seven in total, scars on their bodies and the electric bats humans sold for ten units in black markets. The brunet notices one man holding onto a phone, as if reporting to a higher up.

 _What if they want to kidnap me_ , she wonders. Fear crawls in her chest, all she ever wants is to vomit and cry. This is too much.

She feels hands grabbing her thin waist, pulling against the strands of light brown hair and clasps on her mouth. She tries to scream, but all that comes out is muffled sounds. Rivulets of tears streaming down her reddened cheeks, she knows she’s going to die — she knows Kenny isn’t here.

The laughter is roaring amidst the dark. She hates how evil they sound, even when they’re poor bastards who holds no power unlike her dear brother. Then again, she’s human too. Kenny’s the Netherborn, not Karen fucking McCormick.

Then, a split second as she closes her eyes, she heard a groan that doesn’t belong to her. Cracking one open, Karen tries not to gasp as her vision confronts the thin mauve tendrils circling around a broad built. The cloak seems to fly around before landing smoothly behind his back, Karen could see the anger dubious in bright cerulean pools.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” he snarls, approaching the gangly crowd which cowers from the surprise.

One man, who seems to be a fool, portrays his foolish bravado by lunging straight to the blond vigilante. He swings the electric bat in one swift movement, but Mysterion tilts to the side before he could feel the prickle of electricity touching his skin; then returns the favour of attack by swinging one foot to a low kick. The man catches by his foot and stumbles flat to the ground. Two more comes forward, hurling on multiple punches and attacks. Mysterion dodges three attacks easily but got caught with a quick jab to his gut from a third person joining in. His body rolls whimsically before he founds his ground once more.

Seeing Mysterion fighting is like watching a gymnast doing a ribbon dance, the wisps following every motion of his jab and kick. It isn’t until when five of the ruffians are beaten up, that a loud bang is heard from the back. A gasp pulled from her lips, she wants to approach towards her brother, but the man behind her is still adamant on pulling her frail body. The sight is slightly gory in front of her, cerulean pools widened at the realisation of blood trickling from his forehead.

Mysterion slumps to the ground, his body weak to limp to fully motionless. Dark crimson pools around his body afterwards, straight from the new wound. That’s the signal the brunet knows when her brother is completely dead. The shadows stop for a moment, and an old man appears from the dissipating smoke, he dons a better quality of clothing than the rest — a finer wool for a collared shirt underneath the fine piece of tailored coat. A cigar hangs at the edge of his lips. Karen could feel instant hate towards the man.

“Boy oh boy,” he slurs while chuckling, “Feels good to give him a taste of the pain,” the laughter turns to a loud cackle, the man kicks Mysterion’s dead body, hurling him to a corner. “He won’t be around for another few hours, ey? Enough time for us to take this bitch away,” cruel eyes land to Karen, she freezes up almost immediately. She screams and hauls and trashes her arms but the thugs still hold her tight. The richer man steps closer to the poor girl, his callused fingers touching her jaws roughly.

“Yes, yes. . . This is what he asks for, indeed,” Karen doesn’t like eyes leering over her like she is some kind of object. She spits to the man, who retaliated from shock before his expression turns to one with pure anger. “This bitch!” He roars, clicking the base of his gun again and aims to her skull.

It’s just Karen’s luck that Mysterion revives within minutes, perhaps from the duration of his death was instant a few minutes ago, and his shadows become broader, darker and even more menacing. His whole figure shoots out some sort of impactful whirlwind which, in return, alleviates the pain Karen is feeling on certain abdomens. The blond has his eyes glowing in a mixture of deep violet and bright cerulean, as if electrifying.

“Guardian angel,” she smiles weakly at the sight. This Kenny is a silent Kenny, a thin silhouette which isn’t exactly a real figure yet. After each deaths, there would be intervals to when Kenny would transform as ghosts. And when he becomes one, he regains a new set of skills which are equally as terrifying. The brunet loves him nevertheless, even when he’s an eerie, ghastly spirit.

Ghost Mysterion slithers to the rich bastard, circling around him — by doing so, the man’s head feels as if he is spinning, having to listen to thin whispers of the dead. The man, confused, seems to cower in fear and he hurls his shot to one of his henchman instead. The bullet lands straight to the thug next to Karen, and he flops to the ground, obviously dead.

“Boss, what the hell?!”

“I — I,” the man sweats as if the night is pouring, “I’m not d-doing this!”

“Boss, I’m outta here!!!” The man who grips Karen is shaken for life, he stumbles to the ground before running elsewhere.

Having nobody to target, the man still caught in the illusionary, aims his own head and pulls the trigger.

Karen gasps, and pulls herself away. Shuffling backwards and backwards till her back meets the wall, and the sight of her brother is over five metres. She has watched fights before, but never a dead person — much less a suicide right in front of her. The bile collected in her gut finally pulses back to the surface and she vomits all the contents instantly. She doesn’t know what to feel, she’s not ready for this yet. She’s still in middle school, after all.

Mysterion’s spirit seems to dissipate a few seconds later, yet his body remains limp. It’s when Karen feels a second wave of refreshment that she knows the young man has reached out to consciousness.

Mysterion could feel the splitting ache on his temples, on his shoulders and legs. His muscles groan from exhaustion, and from what he could last remembered is his face meeting the asphalt. Karen, he thinks before cracking his eyes wide open and pulls out a loud gasp.

“Karen. . . Oh my gosh, they took Karen!”

He feels a rush of panic coming through him. Standing up suddenly feels easy, having the adrenaline returning to his system. But before he could run off, cerulean blue eyes scanning the whole alleyway, he hears a tiny whimper amidst the dark.

“K-Karen?”

“K-Ken. . .” the sobs subsided down, and coming out from the dark is a young teen with brunet pigtails and an orange furry parka.

Mysterion swiftly slides to her side, his cape lifts up and reveals a patch of blond hair — he couldn’t care less about that right now — pulling his sister to a tight embrace. “Why are you here, Karen? You’re not supposed to be here in this fucking hour,” the blond rasps in concern, “Promise me you wouldn’t do such a thing ever again!”

Karen sobs, wanting to nod but thrills at the idea of following her very hero. “But I like watching you fight,” she admits guiltily, “You’re cool, brother.”

Blue eyes widens at the compliment, for a moment Karen thinks he’s going to burst out in anger, but the Kenny McCormick returns to life and it’s her brother grinning at her. “Am I really cool?”

“Oh Lord, look at your ego!” She pushes him mischievously but he holds onto the younger frame.

“Ah come on, gimme some healing kisses! I want healing kisses from my wiwwle sisterrrr~”

“Go away, Ken!”

“Kisses first!!!”

The brunet snorts out a laughter instead, but she looks at the scratches drawn on his pale skin and almost has a sad face fleeting through her expression. She digs through her pockets instead, pulls out a small box containing ointments and gauze swabs. “Let’s head to a brighter place first,” she offers and her brother nods in agreement.

* * *

 

Karen is good at treating, it seems, or at least Kenny founds comfort by thin hands gently pressing against new scars and splits. Rubbing the cotton almost as if she’s touching a frail mice, and humming as she ebbs his pain away.

The silence brings him back to the previous thoughts he have. Whilst satisfied at the treatment, the blond could not help himself from pulling away a distressed huff.

“I met him tonight,” he says so suddenly, perking up her attention and she looks up to see a morose blue.

She frowns at this, but asks nonetheless, “How is he?”

Kenny shifts his gaze, to the empty part of street then to the ground, to his wound, “He changed.”

“Bad?”

Kenny bites his lower lip, “I — I don’t know, but it feels like my fault.”

The touch of cotton suddenly stops landing against his skin. Karen looks at him with a certain hardness in her eyes. “It isn’t, Ken. You should stop blaming for what happened two years ago. Whatever it is now, his life has been his own decisions.”

“But —“

“No buts,” she affirms, keeping all her supplies to shut and stands up, “I’m going home first, see you at home, Ken,” she dips down to land a peck against his cheek, taps his shoulder and leaves the sight.

The blond doesn’t know what to feel except for the swelling pride that his dear sister could be matured at most times. Besides his grief, a grin temporarily slides into his expression. It’s when he’s truly alone, he feels a drop of weight behind him.

“Hey, Chaos —“ he bites back his tongue, wincing at his foolishness and the pain, “Leo.”

“Mysterion,” the voice says.

“I still prefer Leopold ‘Butters’ Stotch than any identity,” Kenny attempts a weak laughter but fails somehow.

“Mysterion,” the voice hardens.

Kenny turns around to meet a lighter blue, a larger set of eyes beneath chrome helmet, a scar seen on the left eye. He seems taller, but not reaching to his height yet. He seems older, certainly wiser yet the naivety still evident in his eyes.

Whatever it is, Kenny feels like this Chaos doesn’t really know what he is doing.

“Leo —“

“Chaos,” the other blond grits his teeth, “You don’t call me by my name again, got it? You don’t look at me like we used to know each other back in high school, _Mysterion_ ,” he says bitterly, “From now on, we’re nothing but enemies. I don’t know about your life, and so do you. Got it?”

“I just want to talk.”

“Well, we’re talking now. Aren’t we?”

“You know what I mean,” the desperation in his voice is becoming clear. “I want Butters Stotch, not Professor Chaos.”

Said Professor Chaos snickers, stepping into the space so suddenly. He closes his distance for a brief while to the point their noses almost touching — and poor Kenny has to hold on a blush — before hushing the blond complete with a snarky remark; “A little bit too late to realise now, eh?”

Their shoulders brush as he moves past the cloaked man, and he runs away almost immediately before Kenny could actually react.

But the dull pain freezes the blond to his spot, and all he could ever feel is the remorse to what he could have done back then to save Butters Stotch from changing.

It fucking hurts.

It hurts so much to lose the person that you love.


	5. Trailer #4 : Final Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here’s final preview. Results will be posted soon! Yay! Get ready!!!
> 
> My semester just officially ends today. I am sad and happy at the same time by the way.

It’s unfair when you have no choice but to have missions involving lots and lots of people. It is extremely disturbing especially when a hunter-vampire breed hasn’t fed himself since the past two weeks, and his blood pack seems to run out in his backpack. Not that the blood pack has ever satisfied him — but drinking straight from flesh is pure heaven. Mingling in the crowd is a challenge to Mosquito, he could sense the pulsating blood in their system, begging to be drawn out by his fangs.

And, oh, will that taste so, so delicious.

Despite all bloodthirsty thoughts which becomes his usual distraction, Clyde Donovan isn’t one who hold pride to his inhuman status. He never wished to be born with a weird kind of DNA (at least that was what the educators had told him in school, his friends sometimes steering clear from him when he accidentally bared his fangs). If he could, he’d be what the humans have deemed normal. Back then, living in Denver was a total hell hole. The constant judgements, the isolation. He was lucky that Craig and Tweek offered a spot for a friendship — but he was happier when he decided to step into Brooklyn.

New York was a total different area to be in. Not just the outskirts and the lush of grid cities and classic setting, but to the characteristics of citizens to people like him as well. Neither gives a mind of his race, or some holds a certain amusement to his types, the rest curious and few minorities are the opposers.

Blood is still a difficult thing to find with ease. It still takes sheer force and a little charm to tackle down women (any sex is fine but the female gender has been his preferences since then) into alleys to have them offering their neck to him. Nonetheless, everything else seems perfect for him.

Except the crowd. Except the kind of mission the agency assigns him, it’s crazy — it’s driving _him_ crazy.

“Oi, oi, Mosquito —“ a voice alerts him from his blood-thirst daze, coming from the comms device attached to his neck. “Are you listening to me?” It’s Tupperware, who’s talking from behind the scenes. The half-cyborg has been his partner for almost a year now, and despite the contrary of their life situations — they mingle well just as (or even better than) Human Kite and Toolshed.

The brunet swallows a lump in his throat. “Fuc — yeah, yeah I am. Find the target, steal the case, flee.”

“Huh,” Tupperware hums in the comms, the brunet could imagine his half-smirk from the background. Speaking of that, all that half-cyborg is currently doing is to sit inside his office and access the availability of a whole other universe in his head. “Target’s character?”

Damn. “Woman. Blonde and petite, currently wearing a one piece suit and a trench coat, green, and has a pair of, ah. . . shades?”

“Not shades, she wears an eye-gear, third version of release, yellow glass and the function switches on the right. Oh — and she’s grey-haired.”

“Fuck,” Clyde grits his teeth out of light frustration but proceeds swimming in the flow of the throng of people. “Must be wealthy to have an eye-gear.” He almost whistles at the thought of it. The advanced creation consists of users of having other functions than a better eyesight after all, adding the capabilities of zooming and access to all sorts of hyper visions if you pay even more.

“All the more suspicious to what she’s doing with an affiliation to the Bezier’s.”

“Anyone in contact with the Bezier’s are wealthy.”

“They’re the best smugglers in downtown Brooklyn — hey look out!”

The striking patch of grey glistened under the noon’s sunlight, mingling with the mass of several other colours and God knows what people wear on their heads — helmets, gears and those cover-up devices animal-human hybrids use to have their secondary ears hidden. Gloved fingers adjusting to the right side of her head; at least that is what Mosquito could conclude from his zoomed vision.

Clyde could not waste any moment in his life. Grinning, he seals the loop of his helmet, securely tight, and his fingers make their way to the back of his waist as he clicks his backpack.

“Oh hey, Mosquito,” he hears Tupperware calling out to him before he could activate his wings, “Don’t bite anyone.”

Clyde snorts, “I’ll try.”

* * *

 

If Heidi could choose one word to describe her life condition at this exact moment, it would be exhaustion.

All-nighters, longer shifts, crooked backbones and bandaged cheeks — though one could say that a longing for a certain someone wins overall of her current problems now. No matter how sickly she almost feels, or the fatigue creeping into her bones, Eric Cartman has been her number one concern.

Ever since the burly-sized brunet had been kicked out from the agency, his life has been in jeopardy. An utter pandemonium holed up within one apartment of mother and son. Some would scoff at the fact that Eric is still living with his mom (he moved in again after the removal), but Heidi always find the charm to her lover — and she told him it’s endearing he still choose to live to his mother more than any other place he could crash.

Though at most nights, a drunk Eric would come by her doorstep — much to Bebe’s and Wendy’s dismay — whining about how terrible his life has been. And Heidi’s heart is weak when it comes to love; she never wants to see Eric this way.

She needs to help him get back to where he supposedly belong.

“— you listening to me, Heidi? Hey, Heidi! I’m talking to you, argh! _What a little bitch. . ._ ” the brunet manages to whisper the last part, thus Heidi barely heard what he has spoken.

The exhaustion is creeping to her anyway, she couldn’t really focus much to his words as she used to. Heidi feels guilty.

“Y-yes, babe?” Even speaking draws out the energy from her body. The female brunet could see white stars from the corner of her eyes.

“I was saying. . . that I heard Toolshed and Human Kite are finding information to infiltrate Chaos’ lair. If I could find the information first, the agency would take me back again! And I’ll return to the screen and have all the money than the two of those bastards could have.”

Heidi smiles at her boyfriend’s determination. “That’s cool, Eric!”

“I know right.”

“But how are you gonna do it faster than the two of them,” she bites the lower lip, “Th-they both have, you know. . .”

“Ay, are you saying I suck?!”

“N-No!” Heidi gasped, “I’m telling you to be at least —“

“Blah blah blah, look who’s talking,” Eric snorted, rolling his eyes and clamping both of his ears.

If he wouldn’t have been her boyfriend, she would have learn not to care and leave him at the doorstep. The frailer brunet sucked in her breath, knowing that she’s going to hit the slumber soon if she isn’t in bed by twenty minutes, and so Heidi leans at the doorstep, her fingers clawing at the doorframe for dear life. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

Eric Cartman or Coon, the official name given to the agency long ago, sighs genuinely for the first time today. His worries clear on the creases of his forehead, and the broad shoulders drop gloomily. Heidi remembers growing up with a fat ten-year old kid before, but since high school, the body fats accentuated to muscles that makes him look bulkier, slightly the tallest and broad. And she knows the Nazi-like kid back then, despite holding his cunning intentions, believes that he has grown at least the adult level of maturity.

. . . That didn’t means Eric isn’t so chaotically evil right in the head. But Heidi is the kind who sees good in every people.

Right now, she sees the disappointment beyond the faux, and how deep Coon is brooding. He answers a while later, “Yeah. . . I’m going home.” The whine escapes sadly, like at some point, Heidi believes it’s Eric who doesn’t wanna leave her just yet. She will stay if he would only have asked.

Eric squeezed her hand briefly before running off somewhere else. Heidi watches until the shadow slips into thin line before completely disappears.

She remembers her fatigue, and somewhat just as she pulls herself back inside, she’s met to the cold, hard floor.

The brunet is back on her bed when she creaks open her eyes. Though her room is well-lit — far too bright to be considered morning — and she hauls herself with a gasp. Brown eyes meet a pair of azure watching her.

“Oh, you’re back from your trip?” Heidi half-yawns, looking more tired than surprised.

Bebe scoffs at the question, her arms crossed as if she’s angry about something. The blonde is the team leader when Wendy’s not around anyway. “Yeah, and first thing I almost stepped on was you sprawled on the ground.”

Heidi wants to interrupt but seals her mouth into a taut line. The guilt in her expression is all Bebe needs to know about the whole ordeal.

“Remind me why you need to work yourself to death just for the asshole once again?”

“He —“ she frowns at the word Bebe used to call him, “He needs me more than anything, Bebe! He’s all by his own after the whole thing happened, and he really wants to join back in again! Or at least, try taking back the registration —“

“Which costs about ninety-thousand units.”

Heidi does not respond.

“Look,” the blonde sighs, and grabs both of her shoulders, “You’re nice, Heidi. You’re the kindest girl I ever met, far kinder than Wendy,” Bebe snickers, “But you’re _waaaaaaaaay_ too nice, Heidi. Don’t you think that Eric getting kicked out from the agency is the proper thing? He threatened Hindsight before the hero retired, he sabotaged Meelo Cartinez’s suit before he gets to go on the exam, and that’s because Meelo almost had the same identity as him — some, some raccoon shit, I don’t know. . .” Bebe makes a face as she said it.

Heidi knows all of these. Still, she doesn’t speak a single word but keeps her head low and starts to weep in silence. Bebe travels her hands to the back and gives her a soothing embrace.

It’s only when Bebe suggests a break-up that she starts to speak a harsh deny, but her fragile, stick-like fingers clutch the hems of Bebe’s fabric as if she’s going to disappear any sooner.

Heidi feels sickly. She doesn’t know why.

* * *

 

Sometimes, Berkeley sucks.

It’s boring.

For a fourteen-year old boy to land into Berkeley, amongst the eighteens and the nineteens and the twenties who claim themselves as adults, Ike Broflovski should consider himself as a prodigy.

On which, with him sometimes playing ego, he tells everyone he believes himself as one.

But even when everyone are looking up to him, he feels himself drifting to a tedious life without any challenges. California’s nice, it’s becoming a hub of alcoholic entertainment and theme park megacity. Though, Ike always wonder if the ocean back then isn’t so crowded as the one he has in his era. Metallic floorboards built into ports which connects to the skyline that uses the a large square metres of the ocean in southwest as its own fountain — the governing tower. Apart from the tower, the ocean is full of unknown ships and engineered gondolas, both skies and water having the same kind of scenes.

California might be a hybrid-supporter, but that would be a place for his brother.

So when he returns to Colorado for a brief while, at the very least, the noirette could breathe in temporary relief of sweet fun. He excuses himself a few days off to be in Denver, one of the cities rebuilt in grid system.

Before moving to Berkeley, he spends one year to experience school in the heart of Denver. Fully served for humans, and nobody else, offering dorms for distant students like him and excel in PHML, which stands for _Pure Human Math League_ (why the stupid humans decide on that kind of name, he doesn’t have a single clue or a single damn shit). And that’s the place he meets two girls which amuse him.

Karen McCormick and Tricia Ruby Tucker.

Karen’s a unique for living out of the human lair in Denver. She’s known to be the poorest kid in class, but didn’t really stop her from her studies. In fact, she’s about the eighth smartest in class, and the second most capable to arts. Tricia, on the other hand, is more network-cunning than class-smart. The role of the director of newspaper team suits her well, after all.

Once in Denver, on Friday by the alley of Bunkers (a cheapskate cafe near southeast of downtown Denver), he reaches the place to find exactly who he has been looking for. One brunet and one ginger.

“You’re supposed to be in Berkeley,” Trish grunts at the sight of the noirette.

“You’re supposed to be in school,” he checks the time. There’s still half an hour before school officially ends, but the two often gets the hang on escaping the last few classes.

The ginger snorts again, but Karen just laughs and smiles warmly at the sight of her friend.

“Heyyo.”

“Hey, Karen,” Ike replies genuinely before joining the two by the corner, “At least she greets properly.”

“A junior like you doesn’t need respect from us,” Trish jokes, “You’re still junior by age,” she pokes her tongue out.

“At least I escape hell.”

“At least I don’t enter adult kind of hell at the age of fourteen.”

Karen has to hush them before their voices get even louder. “Okay, okay. Stop it, you two. Geez, is arguing the only thing you two did?”

“Apparently, yeah.”

“I don’t even know why he’s here,” Trish motions a signal to Karen.

“You could always leave, Trish. At least let me hangout with Karen.”

“Fuck — go away! Or I’ll call your mighty best friend, Firk —“ the ginger shuts her mouth before she could finish up her sentence. The silence runs around for a longer while as they sit, and Tricia to wear a guilty look. “I. . . I’m sorry I forgot.”

“It’s fine.”

Karen throws Ike a pitied look. Most of the times, Ike hates pity looks. Sometimes, people don’t know what to do in saddest moments but to give pity looks. For him, sympathy is nothing more but a pain-giver. But this time, he could detect the look of her asking if he’s alright.

“I’m fine, Karen. If you’re really wondering.”

“You missed him, at least?” Her gentle voice calms him down.

“Of course.”

“Me too.”

“Same,” the ginger pipes in. “He was a good kid even if he’s gothic as fuck.”

“You and your brother’s language, Tucker,” Karen clicks her tongue.

“Sorry, Kare,” she shrugs, and laughs, “It’s in the family.”

“Same goes to my brain,” Ike winks.

“Oh, screw all of you.”

“So, how’s distraction operation going?” Ike questions the ginger, and she brightens up in some sort of sardonic, eerie way that rivals her brother’s death glare.

It is something that Tricia could do amongst the other students in their school. Manipulating the journal entrees of their holographic news, and tweaking bits of the information without the original writers’ notice. And judging through her smile, Ike assumes she is doing even better.

“Steering vigilantism from getting noticed is difficult, alright?”

“You know I’m a Law student now, right? Whatever you or your brothers doing are illegal,” he points out, “Why don’t they just, y’know. . . join the agency?”

“Poor,” Karen says.

“Too much rules and regulations.”

Karen laughs, surprisingly. He sort of expect the snarky ginger to be the one who respond to his cynical (although playful remark). “Besides, you won’t speak a word about them. You’re technically still a student, so it’s not like you’re going to file in a lawsuit,” she giggles again, “Plus, you’re our friend.

“Point counts,” Trish nods.

The noirette could only groan and slams his palm against his face. “God damn it.”

* * *

Somewhere in Miami, an unknown forum member posts a thread to the hybrid section.

_You are not humans._

Somewhere in the east of New America, someone else receives a text message — it is an offer.


	6. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who might it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, picking up the results took me few days. I am that conflicted. I just can't help feeling guilty about not choosing some people but I'm only capable taking up a few. This story is loaded after all.
> 
> To those who got chosen, congratulations! I am eager to work along with you all and your OCs. Let us all have fun progressing along this project, okay?
> 
> And yeah, I also apologise being two days late. The results should have been posted in 20th, but I've been doing a lot of packing and cleaning my dorm room cause I have to move to a new apartment on June. It's tiresome, ugh, but second-year students got kicked out from the dorm.
> 
> Well, all rants asides, please enjoy the brief introduction! I hope it's good, I've been in a rush that's why.

**CHOSEN CHARACTERS!**

**From ArchiveOfOurOwn**

**Vigilantes :**

Rabid Wolf by GarnettFox

Bass Bomber by TheRapidFanGeek

**Villains :**

Sir Static by BirchSong

Cain by Mengue

La Lupa by xLupa

**Heroes :**

Violet Viper by JustOzThings

Atropos by Logical_Dreamer

**From Fanfiction :**

**Vigilante :**

Psycho by KatasticWriter

**Hero :**

Meltdowner by TheCrazyJackalope

**I have a few kept in draft that is possibly used in future fictions, sequels or ideations.**

Grease by GlitterWater

Midnight by theyanchan_

Black Rose by neighborino

Frozen Quartz by AirPhoenix

Destiny by Cyborg Boy

**THANKS EVERYONE FOR THE REGISTRATION! Also, I apologise that your OCs are not chosen but do not worry, I will always open more registrations for future stories one day. Your ideas are appreciated, they are all wonderful after all! As an apology, I will give you all shoutouts for putting effort in this story of mine. Thank you!**

Shadow Star and Glass by starryyytears

Shadow Walker by Can't say I care

K(ing) by takamina

Grease by GlitterWater

Day Breaker by Trick_You

Technic by cheeto

Black Rose by neighbourino

Frozen Quartz by AirPhoenix

Destiny by Cyborg Boy

Kitsune by shayclov391

* * *

**INTRODUCTION**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Call Girl prepares herself as she was called into the office ten minutes ago. By common knowledge to the members of the agency, the eighty-eighth floor is reserved for the mightiest heroes who serves to become the top council.

She couldn't resist her quivering gasp from escaping her lips as she slips into the gargantuan door (around nine feet), and is met with dozens of heroes lined up against the long, sleek table made of glass. The noirette squints her eyes to see the furthermost person, and the only one who faces to her direction.

"Ah, here is our best informant in the agency," it is a man's voice, smooth just like the motion of him looping his fingers around the wine glass and sips down the cherry red content.

"What may I be of the service, boss?" It's fortunate Call Girl trains herself not to hesitate, though she knows this is different from the public speaking she ever did back in Boulder.

The noirette hates to feel the prickling stares against her, though some adorned themselves with their identity masks, or covering their faces with hoods — whatever serves the design, that is. The man, who might be the leader of the council which makes him the boss of all bosses and the boss to the whole agency smiles toward her questions, Call Girl wants nothing more but to use her eye gear to zoom into the space nearby him but feels reluctant to do so, fearing that it might be considered rude.

"How would you like to assess the registrations, Call Girl?" The boss speaks once again, after a moment of eerie silence surprisingly coming from everyone. The mentioned Call Girl perks at the question, inclining her head in confusion upon the sudden offer. Even if she is the best informant and whatnot, why must it be her?  _Then again, if you'd choose Stan, everything's going to be chaotic_ , she inwardly giggle to herself. "You'll get to assess new candidates this time, and also we need to do some background checks upon everyone. As you possess such ability, we conclude that you are the suitable member to assign this task."

"Are you sure, sir? I've only been in service for merely a year."

The boss gives her the aura of the possibility that he might be smiling. Perhaps. She couldn't really figure it out, standing few feet away from him after all. "Positive. We've send the data to your gadgets, you might leave and start now. Tomorrow, you will meet the candidates at Floor 60. All the best to your work, Call Girl."

She notices a  _bing_  ringing from one of her  _Holos_ , after bowing and leaving the room with her head still spinning in alarm (this kind of information isn't something easy to swallow that quickly, mind you), she brings out the metallic bar-like device with one button at the left top. Using her thumb, she opens up to access the intangible graphics and is met with few faces. "Well, nice to meet you — Kellie, Caelus and Spike." Call Girl might have a feeling she enjoys meeting the three candidates.

* * *

A blond vigilante is roaming in the grid city of Denver once again. He believes Chaos is still running around somewhere in the northeast, Tricia has told Karen about the findings of hybrid humans scattering around the abandoned factories. He passes by  _Cat-As-Trophe_ , one small part of the building in construction prior to the attack he did the other day. The blond frowns at the thought; it isn't a fairly enjoyable fight, not when it has something to do with his sister back then. Karen could have died, and she isn't a Netherborn to be able to revive just like he could easily do.

But just as he slithers through the square building reverberating with sound, one split second later, Mysterion feels his body meeting with a force which hurls him around hundred metres from the club. The splitting headache comes, but he is lucky his soul does not slips away to demise (something that he doesn't really wants to happen all the time), but the pain collects around his abdomen as he tries to haul himself up.

"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!"

A blurry figure appears from Mysterion's vision, and he feels his left shoulder being pulled until he is finally standing. The blond gains his vision in a matter of three seconds, and he is face to face against a pair of brown eyes behind a black eye-mask. Dirty ash blonde with a beanie on top, and the blond detects smoke wafting from both of her palms. The explosion must have came from her, after all.  _A lone worker? That's amusing._

"Well, aren't you a traditional," Mysterion comments bluntly, and he playfully grins at the sight of what seems to be a female. His heart might be for Butters, but it isn't wrong to have flings at most times. That is what he thought, though.

The girl rolls her eyes toward his statement, and she pushes him, returning the distance from personal to public space. "Don't think about it," she says. Before she could say anything, shouts erupt from the blown club, and what seems like guards are heading toward their direction. "Welp, that doesn't look good. I'm not paying that place that has people touching my ass," she snarls, and turns to him, then proceeds to smile apologetically, "Better run off, mister."

The girl is a fast runner, it seems. But just before poor Mysterion could stare any further, he realise few guards approaching him as well before making his own escape as well.

Whatever or whoever it might be, the blond could conclude that things around Denver might be getting fascinating any time sooner. Hero or lone wolf, Denver deserves to get the realisation the people need to receive. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could not wait to see what might happen.  _A new Denver is approaching. Will that ever lead to some sort of war?_

* * *

New York might be a pivot to heroes, and to some people they perceive the state as a safe haven, but Dusk knows better than anyone to whatever lurks in the darkest corners. Queens, a city redesigned in cluster organisation; the west to the wealthy, and the east turning to forsaken slums.

Even in daylight, the gangs are always around — smaller gangs to large organisations which makes centres of illegal tradings and torture chambers. He remembered saving up a five-year old (now seven) girl just two years ago, Masuri who looks like a normal girl but possesses the defective genetics of having silver blood. Since then, the supposedly empty house lots in 41st Avenue of Bayside serves to keep and offer homes to children who lost their parents and faced the dangers of the darkest nature in their lives. The no-norm, the quirky, the odds.

Whatever they are supposed to be.

"Deep-thinking?" A voice with a higher pitch greets him back to reality, the braided man faces another brunet (her hair is somewhat dual-tone if looking deeper into details), and he responds her with a lopsided smile. Alice places a bunch of paper and files; documented reports and analysis and empty papers Dusk knows are mandatory in Alice's pockets, few papers come with childish doodles of animals and whimsical characters which she probably use to entertain the kids; on the surface of his desk, joining his brooding with a long sigh. "It's a long day for me," she states, and stretches her arms while shrugging off her winter coat.

"How's the treatment going?"

Alice smiles at the question, "I'm good at it."

"Well, I adore your confidence."

"Pfft," she snorts, "Well, Jay is doing better for a kid who almost got into Children Empire — why do sites like that exist in the internet? God fucking hell." Her voice raises a few octaves, the disgust becoming more evident. For someone who names themselves Psycho, Alice is more sympathetic than any other person Dusk has ever met.

"I know, it's gross," he mutters, fists clenching tightly as the anger thought clouding in his mind, "Imagine there are more out there."

"Damn."

The braided man shifts her a glance, and as the two of them almost jumped from the creaking door behind them — Masuri enters sheepishly — bright blue eyes glance toward green eyes. "So, um, patrol tonight?"

Alice looks at him with a similar determination flashing in green eyes. "Sure."

* * *

Located in Montreal, the cabaret-styled brothel is one of the centre of attraction in the midst of late night. Nina Lobov downs the content of her wine, she sits at her spot viewing the whole brothel with sheer boredom which creeps into her mind for a few months now. Having the brothel is indeed a fortune for her — it is her perk, her opportunity offering crimes and sweet, sweet adventure.

But of course, she wants more of that adventure — seeks and relish to pandemonium that she could feel brewing up in Quebec. Unlike New America, the country once named a peaceful Canada is still brewing in conflict amongst species. The hybrid are winning though, they are  _monsters_ after all. Created by the results of alien-abduction to be weapons who will survive the new world.

One of her workers approaches to her side and whispers; "You have a visitor," before walking off to her station once again. She lifts up her head when the said visitor, who does not seems to fit in the image of the lavished niterie environment. A man of dark hair, and shades of brown for eyes, and fairly tall with brown leather jacket.

The man coyly smiles at her, and she raises one brow in respond. "You're Cain? For a beautiful name, it does not seems to —" she cough, as if in mockery, "suits you."

"For someone who looks like a fancy slut, you don't look like a good engineer."

Nina feels the tick of anger raising to her gut, but she keeps a poised (maintaining the alluring, coquettish persona) and shows him a rather calm smile. "Well, sometimes, judging isn't so good, eh?" Nina sips on her wine before finally placing it elsewhere, one worker picks up the glass and flees just as quick as she is to come nearby. The brothel owner smooths the cashmere she is wearing, and finally takes out her  _Holos_ from one of the hidden pockets the dress offers. "Well, I still think you might be a good ally to work with, especially your father's influence in Toronto."

"So, we could carry out the operation any time sooner?"

Nina blinks at him, drowning within a fleeting thought, and coyly lifts up her lips. "Of course."

* * *

Sometimes, sabotaging is a process that Eric Cartman (or rather known as, or used to be known as, the Coon — mightiest hero, according to his own perception) learns to do it as a team. But after having himself kicked out from the agency, finding a partner is rather difficult after all.

Most chances residing in the so-called good vigilantes he have met so far, but they were all so persistent to their own policies; doing good behind the government's knowledge, doing it for their own family, helping out the poor victims — blah, blah, blah. Eric doesn't want good people doing good things without anyone knowing or that some sort of shit. He could suck his own balls and nobody would know; it just feels like that when it comes to recognition.

Yeah, recognition.

Eric Cartman wants his fame back. To have people looking at him from afar, and screaming with pure joy and flailing their arms and visit his conventions and wear his merchandise as he passes by and signs off while wearing the his pride straight on his physical — yes, yes, the spotlight that he misses so much. Now, all he heard in the telly is Toolshed or Doctor Timothy or even the fucking evil bastard named Human Kite.

One thing is missing until one day, Heidi suggests him an enigma named Sir Static who have been brewing up a few tricks here and there, doing small crimes in Sunset Park.

"Are you sure he is the right guy, Heidi?"

"Yeah," his girlfriend confidently grins, "I heard of him in the news despite only making small heists. I'm sure you'll get along with him, I think. . ."

Eric broods for a moment, tapping up the pencil to his chin. He holds onto the list containing every vigilantes' names in west Brooklyn, sometimes in the east or north if he ever feels like driving or he has the money for gas. Tyler Hollings is apparently the last name on the list. It's not like Eric has any other choices after all.

"Well, I might as well try," he nods, "Thanks, babe."

Heidi feels as if she is accomplishing something great in her life. She beams chastely at him, "No problem, babe!"

* * *

**Arc I : The Problem With Vigilantism**

**Coming on 30th March**


	7. Arc I Chapter I : Don't Fuck With The Weirdos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins.

**Arc I : A Problem With Vigilantism**

**Chapter One**

**Don't Fuck With The Weirdos If You're Not Cut Out For It**

* * *

**Bass Bomber/Gaby Paustian belongs to TheRapidFanGeek**

**Violet Viper/Kellie Hampton belongs to JustOzThings**

**Atropos/Caelus Goodman belongs to Logical_Dreamer**

**Meltdowner/Spike McCarthy belongs to TheCrazyJackalope**

* * *

The world is still in the fix of a broken past. Destruction done in about fifty years ago. Somewhere in the eastern part of Earth, the Asia continent is still left with the remnants of poisonous gas. The government is forced on sealing access to the China borders, for even landing a foot to such places could bring risks of new symptoms and diseases. The west is safer, liveable. Even so, of all places in New America, Colorado is what the council could describe as purely chaotic. Not to say about the aftereffects of scientific investigations that led to few alienated giants that once seized lifes in Earth. But Colorado is something else to be described as.

Inharmonious, a border between two species, and the sentiment of pride dwells in the humans as they receive the upper hand — the city that is alive and brimming with luxury. One thing that everyone living in New America, the hybrids in Colorado only know torment and hunger.

And that brings to a whole lot of other problems. With the number of hybrids in poverty increasing, the justice left unserved, thus a secret revolt is planned in behind the scenes. Something that, despite the good intentions the council regards, is illegal being carried out. And illegality is what irks the council leader the most. Not that he cares about the payment that loads into the agency's bank account but for the worst, the price of fixtures when destruction comes upon their fights.

These self-proclaimed heroes, one without license, scattering through the streets. Usually, they creep around when the sun has fully sets or there are few who are brave enough to be in broad daylight. Vigilantes and their wavering pride, the council leader scoffs at the thought. One of the agency's spies has sent a brief report of an explosion nearby the downtown gates in Denver, explosions caused due to a random brawl between the regulars and a girl in odd clothing somewhat caught in camera. See, there's already one report of destruction — no matter if the place holds less importance or not.

Money is still money, rolling out to construction more than to pay for the community upbringing and nation development.

"Sir," a female hero pops into the hologram cube situated against the surface of the clear office desk that he owns, "Doctor Timothy has found her name within the people under his mind control. Her name is Gaby Paustian, living in the currently-upgraded district in northern side, 44th Avenue in Sunnyside," she pauses for a moment until he gestures her to resume, "She has only started about two months or so. Apart from that, nothing," she gulps at herown dissatisfaction, "That is all we could gather for now."

"Very well, then," he is currently reading another report coming from a journal entry in the news forum itself, so-called heroic pair saving a girl in Lakewood. "Midnight," he calls out her attention and she jumps nervously, "Next, tell Doctor Timothy to gather about these people called Super Craig and Wonder Tweek," he adds on but only murmuring to himself, "It's time we bring these freeloaders to where they belong to, or at least, complying to us."

"Roger, sir." The hero named Midnight bows politely, though the expression she wears hold concern.

And with that, he shuts down the cube and taps his finger against the table. The tension rising to his temples and he takes a glass half-brimming with a 2009's wine and instantly swallows down the content.

There is so much to be done, so much to be solved. Being in the council itself, in amongst the authority, isn't quite so easy after all.

Legality is, indeed, troublesome to most.

The man broods on his own, wondering whether to bring the issue to the rest of the council. Though, there are so much more in need of control. Even heroes sometimes are given too much than they are bargained for. The Coon is an example of that. The man shivers at the thought of the ex-hero. Wherever Eric Cartman is now, he wishes not to know.

The cube lying on the surface vibrates ever so slightly before shifting to a hologram of Call Girl. She's reading some files she is holding up on her arms, eyes carefully skimming every details before noticing the connection to his line has been activated. "The candidates are here," she pauses with a polite smile, but there seems to be a hesitance out of it. Time is tolling on her as the nervousness rolls in evident on her face, "Are you sure you want me to proceed with assigning this task, sir?" Finally, she asks. Previously, the boss has given a task on hunting down a terrorist faction created by Type A humans in Portland, as appealing as it sounds to wipe them out, now he has something else in mind.

The man sips on his alcohol and waves his index finger to and fro, a sign of him changing his mind. Pursing his lips, he types in a brief description of a new mission he is about to deliver and clicks the send button. It only takes seconds for the noirette to receive the mail, and it only take a matter of fifteen seconds for her to read it through. A gasp slips through, and she looks back to her camera.

"Now, I understand the previous mission to be — uh — difficult. But isn't this one. . . uh. . ."

"It's fine. I'll send Mosquito and Tupperware to aid the task. Have they completed their previous task on the Bezier case?"

"It has been done since four days ago, and I think," she checks on her own screen, "Mosquito's healing pretty well, and Tupperware seems to finish upgrading his parts yesterday. So, I'll deliver the notice to them soon?"

"You may," he ushers her to leave. Once the screen frizzles up to fade and the room returns to darkness, he grins at his own idea. It's an easier way to wipe out the illegal freeloaders after all.

Legality is troublesome, and now it's time to shove that into their faces.

* * *

Somewhere in the west of New America, the heroic pair are unexpectedly holing themselves inside Craig's apartment. It has been hours of being in the same spot, an eerie silence filling the air. Somewhere in the room, Stripe is scampering around with a carefree, bubbly fervour. The guinea pig does not bother to read the air.

The duo does not look apparently so good at all. Electrical appliances sprawled against the floor, all with frazzled wires and broken gears — and a little few smashed into broken pieces.

"G-Gah!" The blond, finally about to blow the steam, is furiously pulling out his hair, slender fingers tugging golden tufts with extreme force, his emerald eyes intently scanning a soulless-looking Craig, "H-How did you destroy everything with just a squeeze?! How are we, guh — gonna buy new ones now?"

Said Craig does not seems to be pleased at his own self too. He has been too careless lately, breaking things with a single touch. Last time, the noirette was riding a bus and the vehicle had jerked sharply to a junction, and so he gripped the railing in a swift motion that he ripped off the entire thing. The other people in the bus didn't took it quite well.

Either it is clumsiness or his strength has been multiplying so far. He found even carrying Tweek in bridal style with one arm easy. A sixteen-year old Craig still has difficulty with that, but with adulthood ripening his body and strength — Super Craig is progressing for sure.

"Well, there could only mean one thing for sure," he meekly speaks. Calm is in his visage, but his heart is racing an upbeat rhythm. "We could kick more asses." He stands up from the spot, somehow feeling rather grossed out of the warmth slowly fading from the floor.

Tweek holds his arm, "T-That sounds easy for you t-to say! If we wreck more than w-we should, the heroes would realise f-for sure!"

"Well, we'll do an outside job. Be in the environment more than a secluded building," Craig suggests, "Besides, our shifts are always midnight. People could easily mistake it as some incident the day after."

"G-Geez, Craig. . ."

As much as it sounds like a convincing plan, at least to Tweek, he still reluctantly weighs over the choice. Daylight is soon fading, and the two knows for sure that the streets of Lakewood will yet again be filled with scums and black market operations. At least, for a small town, there isn't any sort of heavy assaults going on. Fortunately, no murder is ever heard in their place.

Well, maybe that'll change tonight.

The two didn't reach higher grounds that night, instead walking like a normal couple holding hands in the street. Though with the tingling warmth Craig feels clasping Tweek's gloved hand, his eyes pry to the streets to look out for people similar to that night. Being on the lower ground, under flickering streetlights is a lot more different than he thought. The view isn't so wide, but small details are even more prominent. He'd think about switching places ever so slightly soon. Although, Lakewood is yet again, just a small district. The road they live in doesn't really contains much of a pandemonium. In his pocket, Super Craig could listen to the small squeaks from Stripe.

"There i-isn't really anything, h-huh?" Tweek hums to his own.

Craig couldn't find any reason to that. He mutters back, "Yeah, it seems quiet. . ." Even so, he doesn't feel like a typical kind of peace. The ionised air feels heavy, feels like something is about to pop around anytime sooner. He tightens the grasp on Tweek's hand, loosening it ever so slightly when the tinier blond whimpers from his side. "I don't feel good about this."

Tweek raises one brow, "Why?"

"I'm not sure —"

He stops. Both of them stop walking all at once. For once, Wonder Tweek's emerald green eyes widens in worry and caution toward him.

They catch sound of a gurgling whimper, and an abrupt, hasty yelp that soon fades to the awful silence. So much for serenity, Super Craig got his hunches right when the environment feels so, so wrong. There's a following noise of crunching bones and small cries and metal against flesh. Whilst the noirette with the chullo hat founds himself running to the source of sound, Wonder Tweek flies himself to the place. The lighter skies grow heavier, clouds rolling to grey and Tweek gathers enough wind to hurl himself to the pleas of help.

It isn't so much of a pitiful scene. The two are glad that it isn't a victim beaten up so heavily, but a heist between three of hybrids (one that Tweek catches sight of the familiar, glowing girl) and two older girls — one with metallic, chrome skin and eyes a full pair of glimmering green; the other who looks actually normal despite being on their side — against a dozen Type A men.

Earlier, the norm-looking girl throws a jab to one of the men, but two more catches her from behind and propels her to the wall. A sickening, bone-crushing blow is heard from her temples before she lands flat onto dirt. The chrome girl tries to help, but even with her metallic fists, she is untrained to fight. Five men maul her, beating her sides and throwing kicks to her gut. She grabs one by the leg and thrust them backwards to have them knocking their friends from the back, but another few evades and assaults her with jabs yet again.

Wonder Tweek lands right against one man walloping against the chrome girl, he pummels with a thundering strike at one fist and electrocuted the assaulter. Thrown to the bricked wall that now serves as a punching bag to this fight, a smashed backbone is heard and he yelps out loud in pain. A certain noirette reaches the heist sooner, and the alley turns to a pause for a moment. The men seems to know who the duo are, and they aren't looking so pleased.

Fear and worry cross their faces. Majority grit their teeth and clench their fists, pulling up guns and rods from their holsters whilst few chatters in fright, and takes hold of the glowing girl who tries her best to break free. They seem to be backing away, the blond notes, their steps seem to be further toward escape more than they are to approach the two freeloaders.

"B-Blue, these are the guys who attacked my team the other day!" A masked man grips the glowing girl's arm. She screeches with her tiny voice but she, too, seems to be holding her breath from the sight.

"Well, there's more of us now!" Blue roars, seemingly clueless or just plain stupid. He lengthens one rod from his holster to a metre pole that soon seems to be sizzling in smoke. Super Craig realises what it is; a burner staff that heats up to an extremely high temperature at the tip. Even with powers, Tweek would be hurt if that thing touches him.

_Fuck._

The man seems to pause, looking over his men and gestures an impatient signal to them. "Well?" He grits his teeth, fierce and tenacious yet so, so foolish, "What are you dumbfucks waiting for? Go get 'em!"

Three of them waste no time and take out their own weapons as well. One that dons a brass knuckles challenges Super Craig to a duel. A skilled fighter he is, someone with a gait of a boxer, he evades the noirette's super punches with ease as he carries his own throws. One uppercut meets the noirette's jaw, but somehow, Craig only feels a prickle from the fist. He grabs the man who is already confident to put on a fight and pushes him  _slightly_. To Super Craig, it is a light push at least. But the man is sent flying a hundred metres away and he crashes against an old Chevi placed in abandonment that soon blares its alarm. "Fuck, I didn't mean to make him go that far," Craig curses to his own self before turning to the others.

Another three attack him at the same time, two meets both of his cheeks, the noirette feels the best of their strength pulsating on one launch and the other attempts to tackle him to the ground. What feels like an electrifying adrenaline rushing to Super Craig's veins, he does not realise a brief glow to his eyes before knocking all three of them with one thrust to the ground. Flying debris is the proof of his strength afterwards, as two of the men that takes hold of the glowing girl turn pale immediately, witnessing the large crack upon concrete. Without any hesitation, they release her and makes a dash to the lane.

At a similar time prior to Craig's battle, the remaining five (excluding Blue) focuses on Wonder Tweek who they think are weaker than the noirette by his smaller height and frailer stature. A man clad in yellow (maybe he's called Yellow) spits on Tweek's face — much to his (paranoia) dismay — and cackles as he faces the small guy.

"Oh, we're fighting some pussy now?" Yellow roars in laughter, "I bet you'll go down by one punch."

Tweek hums in contemplation. "I — I bet you'll go down by this." Just as he finishes his words, he returns a spit to Yellow that freezes all his limbs. The man, surprised, releases a high-pitched note and staggers to the back but notices he could neither respond an attack or throw a word back. His friends seem to catch on the situation, all of them angrier than scared, and surge forward to him. With the weather a steady dull for over a matter of ten minutes now, it's pretty easy to call in a lightning that strikes straight to them, and two is sent to unconsciousness while another two, despite injuries to their limbs, are still up and running. These are people who didn't fight with their fists. As one pulls out a pulse gun, he creates a safe distance from the blond, he fires some fairly accurate laser projectiles that Tweek put slight effort on evading. Meanwhile, the other guy seems to be doing his task good as a distraction. He wields his own staff, originally brown of shade and the tip a glistening scarlet from the heat. There's a brief ongoing battle between the two, with Wonder Tweek being the one to evade. The blond knows he isn't that skillful with the duration of hero work they have been doing — he has to be cautious. Yet again, it is two versus one. The staff wielder swats the stick just on the same tempo the gunner shoots to his belly, and whilst the blond is busy avoiding shots, the burning rod's heat pierces right through the fabric of his jumper. He hisses from the pain, feeling his energy draining from the impact and stumbles to the ground. Tweek's sight becomes blurry for a moment, his ears ringing from falling. The gunner is about to shoot him again. Not before he witnesses an angry force making his way to lunge at the gunner that soon found his face meeting the roof.

"C-Craig!"

Breathing in, Tweek fights his consciousness. With any ounce of his remaining energy, he summons another bolt of lightning — although weaker than the previous summon — straight to the last attacker and he soon, frizzles up to crisp.

"Tweek, honey!" The noirette rushes to his side, fingers touching the wound on his hip and the blond flinches. The burner staff  _does_ hurt. A lot too. But Tweek doesn't avert his focus on his lover, not yet, he tries to call the lightning but at the moment, he's only capable of controlling some harsh gust of wind at the moment. He lifts his hand, not really toward Craig but at a similar direction.

Behind them, Blue lifts his long staff to aim at Craig's head but the unfazed blond catches him sooner and he is pushed back a few metres away.

"Is that it?" Wonder Tweek asks, emerald pools shifting to the two unconscious girls lying amongst beaten up bastards.

Before Craig could reply, the two takes notice of more footsteps coming from the lane. It hasn't really ended yet, both of them know. As much as his strength is carrying through this fight, Craig worries for his lover here. Cradling his boyfriend to his chest, Super Craig turns to the blond.

"Lay down while I fight," he suggests but the blond doesn't seem to agree with him.

He leans forward, their forehead almost touching. "N-No! I can still fight too! This — This is just a small wound!"

As much as the noirette wants to disagree, he couldn't push away Tweek's determination. Biting his lower lip, he contemplates for a second. "Fine, but don't push yourself too far."

The noirette pulls Tweek to stand up. Clearing dust from his buttocks, Wonder Tweek brings one gloved hand to entwine around Craig's. The only remaining conscious girl ushers to their back, while pulling her friends to a corner on which they can lay rest much comfortably. The two of them are faced with another twenty more, including the other two who ran before. This wouldn't just be a clean fist fight, that's for sure.

"Huh, this is refreshing," Craig snorts, a phrase that doesn't match the noirette's flat, nasal voice.

* * *

Mysterion settles himself in the city yet again, once history told the place as a vibrant difference from classy New York, also known as Las Vegas. Somewhere further, somewhere beyond north that is brimming, if not all, with the normal humans — sometimes dubbed as Type A human breed. This time around, he makes sure Karen isn't to follow him into the midst of the danger lurking for the people of the outskirts. She has insisted multiple times before, but the blond has put his mother in a watch over the younger teen, much to her disgrace. The norm may not have powers, but they have weaponry that could be far superior than a meekly ability. One that isn't so affordable to the hybrids. Creeping at corners and alleys, Mysterion is located at where he is best. He mingles in the shadows, thankful that the cape he wears blends him better in the dark, as well as covering his bright blond tufts.

He's gazing all over the place. In the crook and nook of every alley, and the higher grounds where mostly disguised Type B on a lookout for a revolt or human guards who did a number against innocence or just some bloodlust people — hybrids or not — planning havoc. There have been lots of cases solved by none other than Mysterion. He's been doing this since he decides his curse wouldn't be gone by any time sooner, each and every human pattern is as similar as ever. Yet this time around, his mind wonders about someone that gives him a worst pain than deaths.

Butters — he means, Chaos must be lurking in the city again. It has only been two weeks since his last appearance, and even so a pang of hurt dwelling in his chest. No matter how bad Butters Stotch wants to be villainous, Kenny does not think he is cut for it. At least, not  _his_ Butters. Not when the blond has particular been his friend since they were in elementary school.

It hurts to even think about him.

The blond vigilante shakes his head. For now, he needs to focus on getting a task on hand. Wherever his past lover is, Chaos must be safe with his people, whilst he remains alone.

He soon reaches a street of houses. The air around the neighbourhood is awfully still. As if abandoned, nothing more than some tidy slums. Though, it is what Mysterion wishes for. Amidst silence, movement is easy to be detected. And he catches five shadows slithering in the street, the norm with their weaponry, though one of the five only wield a long object that is equivalent to a baseball bat. They move in silence, and from the information passing around in hushed whispers (as usual, Mysterion listens about in nightclubs. This time, it's Black Pyramid), there's a black market auction going on in the uptown part.

Mysterion isn't so sure whether the information is accurate, but he might as well dive in for the worst.

"What ever happened to the airgun we gave you, Paz?" one of the guy who seems to be in late twenties asks, turning to the back to gaze upon the shortest member.

"Lost it."

"You fucking what?" One of the guy howls, an angry higher pitch — but it's a different pitch than that who is responding.

The targeted member seems to not care about it at all. Not the slightest faze. He or she keeps his or her composure, but raises the tone of voice as well; "Yeah, so what?"

"You think that gun is some cheap shit you can throw off? You filthy —"

The other takes hold of the vexed man who looks as if he's going to throw in a punch, before the first man cuts him off and flicks the shortest member's forehead. He seems to be the brooding type, even so he carries the air of a person who goes in for a swift kill. The glare he gives is cold. "Let's not waste our time here."

A girl, Kenny concludes. It seems to be a girl amongst the crowd. She is the one wielding the bat-like weapon, a dirty blond hair hidden beneath the hood of a jumper. She wears a striking colour, pink on the upper part and a pale yellow checkered skirt. Contrary to the others who wears darker blue and indigo or an army-patterned green, she is an emphasis. Mysterion wonders about that. Perhaps, a new recruit. Eitherway, something suspicious is about to happen.

Something in her movement is cautious, too. It reminds the blond of a certain day before. The girl almost turns to his sight and he backs away, drowning in the dark side even more before emerging again. It's as if she knows that Kenny is lurking, watching as they pass by the sloping road. Evidently, her steps seem to stagger and there is a fleeting but hesitant pause before she continues her way to rejoin the group. The five of them are going downhill, which makes Kenny an easier job to stalk them later.

After creating a certain safe distance from the five people, he follows suit from behind.

* * *

Apparently, for a certain troubled duo, the two end up in their own apartment again, yet with another two new companion. It's early morning, the kind of time where the moon seems to disappear and is left with an empty dark canvas instead. And so, with all the exhaustion seeping into their bones, they retreat after knocking up the last guy who has decided to put on a fight. The fracas had lasted longer than they anticipated, more challenging and thrilling than the first round, and the two freeloaders adorn newer injuries — Super Craig was grazed by three shots, one a real bullet instead of laser projectile, on his arm, and his cheeks are numb from the petty fist fights. They seem to aim at his face a lot, he wonders why. Beside him, Wonder Tweek suffers from the burn wound and another gash from a sleek katana one fighter — a woman? — was using.

As much as the blond wants to use his healing powers, he is drained from the fight. The blond leans his head against Craig's shoulder, two of them sitting on their couch, while looping his arm around his lover's. Almost, he is pulled to a slumber. But the bitter feeling dwells in his gut stops him from doing so. The noirette must have felt the same.

"I. . . I can't believe we let two people escape from our g-grasp."

The girls, who have been awaken for at least an hour, perk to the sound of his wavering voice rise from the blankets sprawled on the floor and turn around to meet wondering green eyes and an unfocused dark blue.

"Come on, babe," the noirette croons, " 's not our fault."

"Y-yeah!" The glowing girl chirps, she seems to be determined to change the frown out of Tweek's face. The vigilante duo gazes upon her, and the blond responds with a weak smile. "B-But," she speaks again, this time softer, "Are you guys okay?"

Craig blinks at the question. Almost,  _almost_ he wants to retort at the ridiculous wonder but again, it's a little girl they are facing. Second, she seems to be more of an enigma than the two of them who seems to wield the appearance of Type A humans, only to contain slight genetics (in Tweek's case, a supernatural effect from thunder strike) of Type B. "We'll be fine, as soon as this guy here," he gently taps Tweek's head, "gains some energy, he could heal us all. For now," he slumps, arm resting around Tweek's shoulder, "bandages will do."

"W-w-what about you two, h-huh?" Tweek turns to the metallic-skinned girl, "Especially you, um. . ."

The chrome girl seems to be putting a strong bravado, but everyone take the hint that she is hurting at some point too. She got beaten up by few men too. Wincing, she gradually brings herself to speak through gritted teeth; "Yin, except for my arm, I think I'm okay."

"Will you save our friend, Sarah?" The youngest of them asks naively, her eyes sparkling with hope upon her two saviours.

The noirette almost flinch against the question. After they have taken out most of the twenty thugs, the woman who have succeeded on putting a number to Tweek managed to take advantage of their already languid movements and low energy and slip with the other girl, then made her escape. The two vigilantes did not realise back then until Taffy, the young girl with glimmering skin, shouted helplessly for her missing friend. The least they could do was to drag information from Blue who was already half-unconscious.

_"Hah, you two fuckers think I'll help you two shits?" Even with low energy and frozen by Tweek's ice once again, he managed to spat._

_But Craig, who isn't much of a patient person, tightened the grip against his throat. Blue, sensing air seemed to dissipate from his lungs whimpered and trashed his arms helplessly and finally cried out, "Okay_ _okay, fi — ahhhh! I'LL FUCKING TELL YA!" he choked out after the noirette loosened his grip._

_"You better tell us fast, you piece of shit."_

_"Cr-Craig!"_

_"Ve - Vegas!" Blue seemed to be wailing, his sunken cheeks wet with his own tears and sweat that it almost collected into a puddle down on his collar. "She, she - there's an e-event in the east of V-Vegas, near the old a-art distri. . . g-guh," he was shaking tremendously despite the cold clouding his entire figure, "O-Oh man, I'm —_   _I'm gonna get killed. . ."_

_The self-proclaimed hero donning the chullo didn't seem to care about his little paranoia. Instead, his fingers moved downwards to tug at the fabric of Blue's shirt instead. "What event?" Cold. Flat. So much like typical Craig but with an additional ferocity to it._

_"Fuck. . . Do you need to know EVERYTHING?"_ _Craig glared._

_There was a hesitant pause, then. . ._

_"Je-Jesus, fine! IT'S A SLAUGHTERHOUSE!" He roared, "They're either forcing those damn weirdos to fight each other or they're gonna make some execution, depends on whoever the shit controls that fucking eve_ —

_"I heard enough," the noirette huffed and threw a punch onto Blue's face, knocking him to a lulling darkness and limping body._

Cue end of memory. The noirette shakes his head from the thought and he turns to the two girls watching the difficult look on his face. "What?" He nonchalantly asks.

"It's something bad, isn't it?" Yin asks.

Craig turns to his blond boyfriend, the two of them exchanging conflicted looks before the blond takes his turn to explain this time around. "Well — g-gah, this is too much pressure, aah —" he voices out his monologue, much to Craig's dismay and the girls' surprise, whilst gripping his messy golden tufts before saying, "SHE'S GOING TO DIE!"

"WHAT?"

"Tweek, honey — that's not what you're supposed to say to kids!"

"I'M THIRTEEN AND BASICALLY A TEEN —"

"G-GAH, THEY TOOK HER TO A SLAUGHTERHOUSE!"

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK —"

Taffy becomes horrified for a split second before she starts crying. The entire space is full of sounds of high amplification going on like a fucked up, battered choir and the noirette who seems to be annoyed at the situation flips the girls and finally shushing a panicked Tweek with a squeeze on both wrists and a wrap around his waist.

After a minute the blond finally calms down along with the recently rampaging girls, and he is still within Craig's hold. "No sex for a week," Craig taps the bright sandy hair before attempting to ignore the baffled, broken look of a nearly panicked blond before whipping his head to the younger audience. "You two stay here until we get your friend. We'll leave by the first bus at seven, and Tweek?"

"G-Gah, what?"

"Heal us, please," Craig coos in a whisper. "And treat my ears from those opera singing."

Tweek frowns, "God damn it, Craig."

* * *

For such an extravagant skyscraper in the midst of a development of new city, the room they are being served is rather simplistic and far too crowded. At some point, Spike doesn't know whether choosing on joining the agency seems to be a good idea. He has contemplated the decision upon sending his form, and oh, now he is pondering again while squeezing himself between a burly man having a mummified face and a brunet girl donning a cape and a dark shade of purple mask covering her eyes. Rather than the mummified giant on his right, he is more interested on the brown-haired candidate who seems to be playing with green tendrils (plants) sprouting leaves at the tip of one finger with ease. She seems to be confident with her power, that is for sure.

"Plant manipulation, huh?" Spike attempts a conversation. If it could ease his boredom, why not? "A simple but flexible power, don't you think?"

The girl perks up at his question, the tendrils stop sprouting from her hand and the lingering gaze remains steady on Spike. "Such power isn't something to be amazed. They're just a part of nature."

"Can't say that it's not a remarkable strength."

The girl seems to snort at his compliment, perhaps wondering why this one guy just seems to be amused at her ability. It's not like she is ashamed of what she has compared to other unique powers, she is rather confident about it. But for having someone to flaunt over it does send her to a beaming rush of nerves. "Kellie," she offers up her hand and Spike blinks in surprise at the immediate connection.

"Well, don't laugh but my real name's Spike."

"Eh, it has a nice ring to it," the brunet shrugs and smiles. "I mean, weird names just means you are one of a kind," she snorts. A momentarily silence sinks in between them two, and finally Kellie decides to open up a conversation once more. "So," she drawls on, "What about you? For someone who seems to be amused at my  _simple_ power, you must have something flashy up your sleeves."

"I wouldn't really call it flashy," Spike mutters, then responding to the suspicious gaze from the brunet, "It doesn't look extravagant at first sight. . . But I guess you could say the smaller of things that you can manipulate, the more flexible it can get," he pauses with a grin, "Why don't you try guessing?"

Kellie makes a face as she ponders. Smaller than the seed of nature itself, that couldn't possibly means — "You manipulate atoms?" The mixture of awe and surprise is evident on her face, and for once, Spike feels good about obtaining this sort of power.

"Close enough, though it's smaller than those atoms," Kellie furrows her brows at the answer until he has to blurt it out, "It's electron manipulation. Well. . . Good guess, though."

Making friends with other heroes is one thing, but to be making acquaintances (not yet friends, connections take time, okay?) with someone who has the ability beyond mere matter shakes the brunet pretty much. Manipulation over matter has been spreading around the world for the past ten years, she heard about those Type A humans that discovers their B-potential (short for actually having a slight Type B DNA in their system) but this is the first she ever heard capable of controlling mere components taken out from atoms. Excitedly, she gasps out, and clasps both of her hands. "You don't mind us being partners, don't you?"

But just before the other hero could answer, Call Girl steps right in front of them — the both of them have their seats right at the front line after all — and she taps her board with her fingers to call out for attention. "Well, unfortunately, it's a group of three," she grins before stepping away just as quick as she is to interrupt.

"What?"

"I think she's talking about candidate-picking," Spike narrows his eyes and shifts his gaze from the noirette.

"Wait, but I thought —"

The two turns silent for a moment, when the hero who will access them finally stands in front of them while working on the hologram projection. Every chatter in the room dwindles as the clear projection finally pops up into thin air, revealing random images of people, names and addresses and small details. For a moment, a fleeting uneasy look crosses her face but the noirette clears her throat to cover her discomfort. "Well, first of all, I welcome you all to the Hero Agency," her eyes shift slightly when two other heroes Spike recognises as Mosquito and Tupperware (why the two has weird names is beyond his logical reasoning but he has heard about these two actually putting their names as a joke which accidentally becomes official for them). "That being said, everyone in this room — in exception of us three — aren't yet official heroes," she continues, "And so in order to gain your badge, the council put all of you within a big task. This year, the operation involves all of you," she huffs the final part, "to put vigilantes into arrest."

"What?!" Someone across the room yells.

"Another test, huh?" A person from the other side of room whispers to his friend.

Another one voices out her opinion sardonically, "And of all things, we're kicking up some wannabes' asses?"

"Whoa, you guys sure judge this mission a lot," Mosquito pipes in between the chatters with the intention to lighten up the mood but suddenly, a few of the candidates begin picking on him instead. Beside him, the dark-skinned hero sighs in contemplation.

From his left, Kellie seems to be just as agitated as the rest of the folks inside the room. The air grows heavier from all the tensed whispers and the mockeries thrown to the examination given. Now, Spike isn't one to complain but he expects none about some arresting foolish people playing hero for free. That doesn't sound so much like a hero's task — it is more to the police. The noirette ponders about the discomfort shown on Call Girl's face though.

"Everyone, shut the fuck up!" The previously calm and poised Call Girl finally shuts everyone up, she looks pissed as hell with the way she is cracking her knuckles and extract her weapon (it's her infamous retractable phone stick) from the compartment situated around her waist. The spiky-haired candidate shivers,  _women sure are frightening sometimes_. "Just get on the f —" she breathes, "the task and if you succeed, you get the badge! Deal?"

Disdain is still, obviously, evident on each and every candidates' face. Some might be thinking that the capture might be easy after all, but judging from the experienced heroes' face, there is a fleeting concern that settles in their visages.

"There's going to be formation of teams consist of three candidates, each will be sent to a certain location and certain targets," Call Girl continues (or more like ignores her outburst) after composing herself once more, "Now, I know you all think this task seems to be so easy, but I can guarantee you will receive a lot of hell from those god damn —" Tupperware clears his throat, "Ugh fine, you'll face difficulties from those freeloaders," her lips curls to a bright smile, "So I wish you all the best! Team formations are being sent to your own device."

Rings and beeps could be heard from each and every cubic communication device. Spike feels his vibrating from the back pockets of his shorts. The informant-type hero has sent a short note containing three names to each of them, and his hero name  _Meltdowner_ is followed by two other strangers' ;

_Violet Viper_

_Atropos_

"Damn, I wonder who's Atropos?" Kellie pipes in from behind him, catching him by surprise. He turns and grabs her screen in haste and notices his hero name being listed upon her screen.

"So, you're Violet Viper?" He grins.

Kellie blinks in realisation before snorting out a laughter, "Well, what are the odds? Seems like my words become a prayer or something."

When the two candidates are busy being amused at the result of their fate, they didn't realise a certain person to step in closer within their radius. Another brunet but concealing the rest of their hair with a fedora, and reddish-brown eyes settling their gaze to their two partners. The person smirks, "Nah, it's not fate," they say, "It's my doing."

The two candidates look up to the person who suddenly stands close to them.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Caelus."

"What do you mean by it's your doing?" It's Spike's turn to be curious.

The fedora-wearing candidate doesn't really respond to his question, rather saying, "It doesn't matter whether you know or know what I'm capable of, is it? Let's just get on with the details we are given and proceed to our mission," then they open up the attachment below the note that lists their names together.

"A little too cold, aren't you?"

"Not really, I think I'm focused on my job. I have a resolution to pass this task and get my badge than chit-chatting in this cramped room."

"Oh, and you think I'm not keen to get  _my_ badge?"

Kellie, who is stuck listening to the heated conversation, couldn't help thinking that she might be fucked dealing with those two after all. Forget about strong heroes, the two of them are strong-willed to keep their opinions to their own selves. She wonders if she should be the peacemaker, "Uh guys, can we just get on with this and like, read the files before we go?"

Atropos, or Caelus as they introduce themselves earlier, clicks their tongue ("So much for picking out these guys," the fedora-wearing hero mutters under their breath) and averts their gaze to the girl standing in between the three of them. "We're going to Vegas." So much for an easy mission. They got the worst, most discriminating place in New America ever.

Kellie and Spike exchange brief looks before the female hero decides to laugh her nerves out loud. "Ahahaha, screw you guys — we're fucked!"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaahahahaha this takes longer than I thought. I keep on changing the chapter's plot sequence that I didn't realise I was supposed to update two months ago. Eitherway, I'm fucked. And I'm sorry to keep you all waiting :(
> 
> I've been gathering other inspirations to fuel the plot but so far I haven't actually draft the heavier, actual plots. I've been catching up with Gintama to write this then decide that anime is worth to be inspired from cause SP and Gintama are almost similar in their humor (though SP doesn't cover up anything at all). Also, I've been thinking about including a major Clyde and Token scene here along with Kenny but then it's drag on and so I end the chapter with these three instead. I'm still not satisfied writing this as an introduction but I guess it'll do. For now ;w; By the way, I'll only list down OCs that makes an appearance/cameo/mentioned in chapter so don't bite me.
> 
> Anyway, here's some trivia about where the characters are in this current storyline. And if you want, please comment down your place too. It doesn't have to be America, as long as it's not Asia since that place is off-limits according to this storyline.
> 
> Denver, Colorado — Mysterion, Karen and family, Tricia Ruby Tucker and family, Tweek's family, Clyde's family, Token's family, Dougie O'Connell
> 
> Boulder, Colorado — Cartman's mom, Kyle's family, Stan's family, Wendy's family, Bebe's family, Heidi's family
> 
> Lakewood, Colorado — Wonder Tweek, Super Craig
> 
> Brooklyn, New York — Main Branch of Hero Agency; Tupperware, Toolshed, Human Kite, Mosquito, Call Girl, Bebe Stevens, Heidi Turner, Eric Cartman
> 
> Queens, New York — Sub-Branch of Hero Agency; Captain Diabetes, Fastpass, Doctor Timothy (he's in between main branch and sub-branch)
> 
> Berkeley, California — Ike Broflovski
> 
> Miami, Florida — Butters' family (moved from Denver), Mitch Conner (?)


	8. Arc I Chapter II : Plan Your Fights Or You'll Plan An Early Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Pyramid is a sign of a no-no.

**New Earth Operation**

**Arc I : A Problem With Vigilantism**

**Chapter Two**

**Plan Your Fights Or You'll Plan An Early Death**

* * *

**Bass Bomber/Gaby Paustian belongs to TheRapidFanGeek**

**Violet Viper/Kellie Hampton belongs to JustOzThings**

**Atropos/Caelus Goodman belongs to Logical_Dreamer**

**Meltdowner/Spike McCarthy belongs to TheCrazyJackalope**

**Psycho/Alice Moore by Katastic Writer**

**Rabid Wolf/Dusk Hamachi by GarnettFox**

**Masuri, Alan, Yasha, unnamed Pyramid members by me**

* * *

Alice enjoys watching the children running around the supposedly abandoned streets. It has pretty much become their lair, a place to shed from all dirty problems from agencies and councils, especially the one that takes hold of matters regarding superhuman abilities and features. From a distant, she watches as the shy Masuri interacts with another kid — younger than her, it seems — adorning a single, blue horn on his head despite other natural human features he owns. Not to be bias, but ever since saving the girl from her own tragedy, Masuri is the one to forge the closest bond with the two freeloaders.

Being here, whilst the other part of the world are getting even fucked up, seems better even when they aren't living in the luxury. Alice is just as content as the kids who are safe and sound. She hums as she draws on blank papers, ink blotching from the lineart pens scribbling any kind of animated characters that she could think of. This is yet, one of her other abilities than consultation. She is good with words, yes — confronting the wounded souls with soothing promises and determination, but her nimble fingers work even more of a miracle against white sheets.

Then, it brings even further to her actual ability. Something that she doesn't frequently use but comes in handy in difficult situations. She draws a bird, inked the feathers with black cross-hatchings then her miracle works, the drawn crow full with details of scrawny feathers and jet black, round pool of eyes starts blinking unceremoniously. It makes a notion of squawking, a noise that Alice imagines inside her head. But her animations doesn't speak. They don't wield noise, just ragged movements and a blur motion of their existence until she tears its origin — the paper.

"That's beautiful, as always," Alice doesn't notice when Dusk, cradling a child whose legs are propped against his shoulders, approaches her. Only when she draws, her focus seems to be pulled in like an abyss that the sound of surroundings and every existence around her seems to disappear. She found her face coloured slightly but she laughs instead of getting flustered.

"It's just a drawing."

"Still, it's a talent to draw something so realistic with just ink," he shrugs, sitting down beside her position after landing the child to the ground, "If the world still appreciates art, you'll make money for sure."

Alice snorts. Money isn't the most of her wishes. "So, what's going on?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You look. . . worried." If Dusk wears a concerned face, there might be something going on. Something that is affecting them in hiding sounds like a huge thing is operating. From her thoughts, Alice feels discomfort settling down her gut. Churning, twisting in bitter thoughts.

Dusk wastes no time to agree. He huffs out a long puff, "I heard from some other freeloaders going around. You know, even when we're not doing anything — we gotta stay clear from some higher-ups, ain't want any trouble and any of that shit. So, uh," he rakes his fingers through his dark hair, and the braid hangs lopsidedly, "Apparently, some of them detects that a few vigilantes are fined as their operations — self-conducted and all — are considered illegal." He rolls his eyes mid-phrase, dubiously putting the sarcasm into his sentence and his displeasure against the hero agency. They are certainly good people, but their addiction to authorisation sounds even worst than villainry at most times.

The long-haired brunet snorts at the sound of the news. "Why now? Of all years they know that there are people not signing up for their — their organisation, why must they hold us back now?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous but apparently vigilantes aren't exactly in hiding nowadays." As much as Alice hates to hear that, it makes sense, "With Eric Cartman fired, there are some rumours that the fatass are starting to go shady, but this is still fresh of course. And well, property damage done by vigilantes are in higher percentage than those fights by petty heroes."

"Yeah well, that's because all they ever did is snoop around information and did background jobs!" Alice is certainly not satisfied.

"I know —" he pauses to give himself a brief thought, "On second thought, yeah. They leave the job to the vigilantes and put the blame on damage to us."

Alice scoffs once again, "Exactly!"

The two of them acts as if there is a telepathic link connected within their minds. A voiceless conversation as the two look each other for a moment, and after a while, Alice laughs as she breaks their lingering stare.

"Oh my god, are you thinking about doing a rebellion or something?" She crooks one of her brows, "A. . . A heist of some sorts?"

A scowl etches on his lips, and he immediately cut her off. "Not exactly a heist, we could always resolve to a. . . more peaceful ways," he laughs at the thought of a violent retribution, "Maybe we could just interrupt on whatever they're doing."

"You're basically saying, making their lives hell."

"I didn't say that."

"But you mean it like that."

Dusk just broods again, and he fumbles with his fingers when he did. "I mean, even when we're in hiding I bet they have all of our details in their system. We weren't exactly subtle before, considering we've broke a lot of child market operations in a very, uh, chaotic manner before."

"And it's not a good idea to just see a part of our community dying out in cells, yeah."

"Hey, we're not just gonna give up easily," Dusk nudges the brunet.

"I know. . ." the girl dips her head low, brown hair covering her eyes as she did. She looks concerned about something, and there is only one thing the two of them can think about in terms of danger. So, Alice voices it out just as quick as it passes in her mind. "The children won't be safe if we're hunted down."

True. All of them, the younger souls, no matter what type they are, happens to be the top priority when the two of them pledges to break into markets and free them from cages and leashes. Dusk taps her, "Only if they give us trouble, then we'll fight back. How's the sound of that?"

Alice blinks back. Then the brunet leans to the wall, and she founds herself tapping her pen against her sketchbook. "That's better," is all that she could say for now.

* * *

Kenny McCormick isn't so fond of daylight. He has been accustomed to the moonlight rather than the radiance of gold for such a long, long time. Currently, the striking glow illuminates directly to his face as he found him in a pitiful position of having one leg limply hanging against the railing and his arms flailing to the ground. Now he knows which is worst after death by having his leg impaled for hours and bleed so slowly, having to wait for the death God to come and claim his soul — is to sleep in a plain ol' and reeking bus stop. His cloak happens to be a makeshift blanket, and so his shaggy blond hair is seen in open air. So does his mask, tucked inside his pocket to reveal a shade bluer than the pale cerulean above.

Groaning, the blond finally rises from his not-so-healthy sleeping position. Part of the low-strung growl he releases is because of the bruises on his gut. He doesn't feel so good at the moment, and Kenny leans against the railing — body languid and sluggish — and dips his head to the back.

With an inverted perspective, Kenny is met with the pink-hooded girl and her arms playfully twirls her bat with ease. Seems like someone just returned from somewhere else, her face is fresher than before. "Had a good rest?" She coos, eyebrow flicking in feigned wonder. Kenny doubts she is sincerely interested.

"Not so much of a pleasant treat, though," snorting, but his reply genuine since the blond isn't so keen in playing sarcasm as well. He feels his gut twisting in hunger as well, followed by a long drawn croak that sounds so much like a monster. The girl chuckles at that, and she — though, a sneaky lass — such an angel, throws a paper bag to his direction. It lands sloppily against his lap, almost sliding to the ground from the inclination of his thighs, but Kenny immediately straightens up and glances at the source. "Sudden kindness?"

The girl shrugs, "I pay my debts."

"You pay one of my soul with a cheeseburger?" Kenny jokes and grins, "My life worth this much only, huh?"

As much as he could see the slight curl on her lips, and she dips her head low to hide her laughter, she retorts back a sly threat, "It's okay, I could always take it back." The pink-hooded girl makes a notion of taking back the paper bag but Kenny retaliates, laughing.

"Oh no, no, no! In what kind of courtesy consists of someone taking back their so-called debt!" He hastily unwraps the cheeseburger and takes a large chunk of bite, then soon slows down to savour the cheap luxury. "Damn, I haven't eat a proper meal for two weeks."

"This isn't a proper meal."

"It is if you've only ate frozen waffles for your three meals a day." He lowers the burger, suddenly thinking about Karen who might be starving and cold at home and most importantly, worrying over him. He has been to missions till early morning, yes, but never to not return for more than twelve hours of operation. Guilt and remorse settles in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he feels like he just lost his appetite.

The girl seems to notice the mood stirring sour, she plops right beside him and crinkles a pout on her lips. "What's wrong?"

As much as Kenny wants to express his problem, the girl is not exactly one of his friend to have him spilling all sorts of personal information, much less about his beloved Karen. The blond manages to blink his worries away, and soon draws a Cheshire grin to her. "Wondering if your name is really Paz."

Just as he expects, the girl scoffs at his response. Pretty much distances herself from him by few inches. In the end, however, she still replies anyway. "Paz is short for Paustian, but I won't expose any more than that,  _Mysterion_."

"Fine by me,  _Bass Bomber_ ," he pauses to taste the name by the tip of his tongue, the sound of it gives a lingering vibe, "That name rocks."

"Eh, I have my own creativity."

The conversation sails away smoothly just as soon as he gobbles the last few bites of his burger. His gut still hurts though, and the blond bends down slightly at the sudden throb by the left side of his belly. Gaby must have noticed his pain, and she grips his shoulder by means of support.

"Hey, hey — are you okay?"

Kenny certainly does not feel okay.

He wants to mutter something, but the words come out incoherently. His gut throbs, head spinning. Last night was truly insane after all. Yet, Kenny knows this is far from over. Especially when he's miles away from home and is currently still lurking within the massacre hub. It stings to remember, but of course, the pang of pain echoes straight in his mind as he drifts away from consciousness as a wave of nausea hit and the screams from Gaby turns futile.

The loudness descends to darkness.

And here is a memory on which will haunt him over and over again.

_Apparently, Black Pyramid is not just any kind of slave market. He rounded up every corners and came to a dangerous conclusion that these masked and hooded crowd, rallying up vibrant cheers that made the whole area held a certain arena vibe if not for the screams of terror following suit, were not here for some friendly purchase of Type B humans. Especially not when the hybrid children looked so damned bloody — bruises and fingermarks littering their skin — so obvious when gazed upon. They hung their head in shame, but also to hide the fact that they were collared like fucking wild animals. The keepers, or whoever they are, tugged two children on stage. Not caring if one of the child was limping because of a bad leg and the other was just shivering to death. They weren't even properly clothed. Just brown and grey rags covering their vital parts, not that it helped. There were older men who licked their lips looking at collared, exposed hybrid girls as if they were some sex toys._

_The keeper, a person with a bone mask_ _and two sleek horns protruding at the side of his or her temples_ _— and obsidian cape that hid the contours of their body,_ _made the two stood at the opposite side of some sort of makeshift stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," it was a lady's voice beneath the mask, "We begin the third battle! Introducing," she drawled on the last word for dramatic effect, and the crowd cooed and cheered and clapped, "This little guy named Alan and the other one, Yasha!"_

_Mysterion was not having any of this. He felt his blood boiling in anger each time the amplitude of cheers increasing by every minute. The blond desired so much to just barge in the event and beat up every of the crowd into pulp but god damn, he was so outnumbered. One against hundreds_ _— thousands? It was a gamble Mysterion wished he would not want to take, but it was so tempting to just. . . kick their asses. Right here. Right now._

_He needed a plan._

_Slithering to the exterior part of buildings, he noticed the other five people he had followed all the way here. There seemed to be some sort of conversation-turned-argument, seeing that one of the younger men was retorting at the one who was late twenties. "Yo, I thought you said this is some fucking auction!" He sounded so betrayed, but again, what the hell was he expecting?_

_The leader laughed at his outburst, and he responded with a dirty glare and a smug grin. Mysterion felt the mood shifted to a darker setting. He seemed so different than the guy who just stopped two of his friends_ _— members?_ _— from having a fist fight just mere hours ago. "I didn't know you are this naive, Cable. We aren't here for a stupid auction," his body wracked as he laughed again, this time his palm stifling his loud burst, "Oh boy, I can't. . . I can't. . ." he heaved out, whilst the others were glaring at him like he was some sort of maniac. Mysterion watched as the pink-hooded girl, Paz, starting to retreat a few steps back. He still couldn't make out her face, especially when she would always face backwards. But her shoulders were slumped. She seemed composed, was all that Mysterion could ever think about._

_"This is a slaughterhouse, yes?" Paz finally broke the intense mood, in exception of Laughing Boy. It resulted to amusement by the leader, and fear creeping to the other three boys._

_"Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes," he maintained grinning, stepping closer to the girl by a few inches until they were in a kissable distance, "See Paz, this is why you're in my team. You're just so smart, unlike these other fools."_

_He was oh-so-confident. Grinning like a fool as if the girl was going to agree to be by his side. But just a few minutes after he slipped out those words, the pink-hooded girl remained her usual silence. Retreating a few steps back, to create a comfortable gap between their faces. Then, something miraculous happened. In a split second, Paz twirled her baton and whacked straight to his face. The baton must be a heated one, or electrified, as the leader burst out an extremely loud scream, his body jittery from the hit. And oh boy, the result was a fucking mess. Paz did a backflip to create a distance, and once she found her way out, she used the high waves as an opportunity to blast the fuck out of the leader. Then the other three boys were thrown away to the asphalt upon impact._

_Angry Boy seemed to yell at her, "You fu_ _— fucking killed Boss, you stupid —"_

_"I saved your asses from this lunatic, asshole," Paz interrupted before he could babble about stupidity. "Your welcome, anyway." She threw away her used baton to the frozen boys, perhaps a little traumatised to see blasted brains and flesh, and turned around to the opposite direction. From that instant, their eyes met since Mysterion was not exactly hiding ever since the whole blown-up scene. Brown eyes met upon the blond's radiating, bright blue and she snickered at his yet again, shocked expression. "And it's nice to see you again."_

_Mysterion was right about her being so familiar._

_"Jesus, you —"_

_"Nu uh, not this time," she wagged her finger and retrieved a mask from her pocket. Wearing it immediately triggered Kenny and he almost let out a relieved, somewhat, laughter._

_Mysterion did not know why he was glad to know it was the same girl who pretty much blew up Cat-As-Trophe to rubble._

_Not that Paz was having it any other way. "Well, Question Mark," she pointed out to his symbol at the centre of his suit. "Seems like we have a similar goal, I think?"_

_"We, uh_ _—" the blond cleared his throat, allowing himself to regain his composure before going smooth once more, "The kids need to be rescued." He returned to the raspy facade of a voice._

_"And there's a whole lot of people there."_

_"We could actually do it," he suddenly blurted out. Was not that surprised to see a furrowed brow expression by Paz, her curious gaze boring his eyes. "I could slither my way in, and once I could unlock all the cages and free the kids you could blow them out."_

_Paz snorted at his idea. "You made it sound so easy, but there are thousands of the Pyramids."_

_A part of the logical Kenny McCormick would agree to what she was saying, but hey, Mysterion was always this unpredictable conundrum that could do anything despite a million deaths. Immortality, despite a curse, allowed him to explore all sorts of possibilities ever since he was just a teeny tiny child. He was not going to waste it out now just because it was him against a thousand Pyramid members. "Try me," was what he said. Mysterion wasted no time. His fingers fixed his hood properly, and he gathered the purple shadows around his figure. Slowly, he became one with them and slipped his way inside._

_Of course, it was risky. Of course, it was a low chance of success._

_Short to say, his fight started with an awesome starting that led to a flop._

_When he was inside, he was immediately met with a dead-looking Alan, his body limp and stiff and eyes a tedious shade of brown with pale grey skin dyed in a bright shade of red, and a crying but battered Yasha. The older boy was already red-skinned and had a twisted face with fangs as teeth in the beginning, but his body was just **too** crimson than earlier. It was his own blood mixed with the other child, yet Mysterion noticed the trail leading to a pool going all the way from waist to his legs that once attached to his body. Dear God, Yasha had lost his legs even with victory._

_Mysterion felt his anger returned. But he could not afford being clumsy on this task. Uncurling his clenched fists, the blond inhaled a deep breathe. He saw the cages just twenty metres away, hence he wasted no time. The shadows consumed him and he slipped his way past the noisy cheers._

Looking back, it looks like a dream to Kenny. He wakes up once again with a startled yell, so scared and paranoid that his whole body is trembling vigorously. Bass Bomber is beside him, and she jumped at his sudden antics.

"Hey, hey, are you really okay?" The same question just before he lost his consciousness earlier. This time he feels very uncomfortable. She taps his shoulder, but he flinches from the sudden touch. Out of the blue, Kenny just yelps and crawls away and curls up like a caterpillar. His mind feels so heavy. He feels so dirty. Remorse and paranoia and fear just keeps on crawling to him. Gnawing the insides of his mind like a burning kind of poison. Rendering him to a very vulnerable state. Breathing heavily, the blond finally gathers all memories from last night.

He died approximately thirty-six times.

He had killed at least five dozens of the Pyramids.

He freed five cages but failed to do twelve more.

The whole building is now split into halves, thanks to Bass Bomber's explosions that presumably killed one half of the Pyramids but unfortunately, also killed some of the caged children.

To conclude it all, it is the worst and exhilarating fight that the undying Kenny McCormick ever did.

* * *

_When the explosion happened, Stan and Kyle had been there. Along with sixteen candidates who had their mission on Las Vegas, the heroes had been so alarmed by the large sound of explosion coming from the southern city. They felt the quake reaching to their feet, and the noirette heard one of the candidate mumbling clearly but faintly, "Jesus, is this still the consequence of my power?"_

_The two heroes changed brief looks before Kite summoned his flying mechanism and immediately fled off to scout the scene. There were no words needed to figure out what they have to do. They had been the best of friends since. . . well, since God knows when. Now, it was Toolshed's task to aid the clueless and baffled candidates to their jobs._

_He felt like a school teacher guiding some kids to a field trip. Sometimes he wondered if Wendy was giving him shitty jobs as revenge. But eh. He was fine with it. He could show off that he was capable on doing whatever missions, tedious or not, and proved to her that he wasn't the kind of idiot sometimes other perceived him to be. "I'm not my dad," was what he always muttered to himself. Well, because Randy was indeed a piece of shit. But Toolshed was a hero._

_"The three of you should be clear with the mission, are you?" He eyed a grumbling noirette and a worried-looking brunet, then another one who harboured a composed but impatient look. "Are you?" He repeated just to be clear._

_"If you are aware, we aren't children anymore." It was the calm one who responded, wearing a nonchalant look as if whatever they were saying didn't strike an arrow to Toolshed. Composed wasn't the description then, they were the ultimate definition of a warped, sardonic demon._

_The gadgeteer sucked in a long breath, he himself trying to be patient with his fellow candidates. "Cool," he didn't mean it, yet he forced a smile, "You guys should get going now. We'll contact by 5AM for progress."_

_"Um, what about the explosion?" Violet Viper asked._

_There had been a complete silence after some sort of eruption coming from about thirty kilometres from their distance. Toolshed blinked at the girl who asked, "That isn't for you guys to find out," a hesitant, confused pause, "At least, not yet." The other brunet scoffed at his reply, and oh Jesus, it was starting to rile him up. "You guys should really go. And remember," this time he slide in a much serious mood just to really put the reminder in their heads, "We want them alive."_ _He tugged one of his drill-looking device, acting as a makeshift grappling hook and averted himself all the way to the top of a thirty-storey building._

_Plumes of smoke tainting the late night skies. Using his sensors, the noirette tried to find any functional radio or devices from the location. When he did received a signal, the only thing could be heard was the sound of groans and screams_ _— was that whacking and gunshots? Then, the line stirred and died in warped static noises._

_Human Kite landed right behind him a few minutes after the static was cut off. A grim and hollowed expression, the noirette was scared of what he was about to find out. The redhead sucked in a long breath, and staggered by his landing that his friend had to put on a tight grip by his shoulder. Something was definitely wrong. Judging by his face, it was probably too horrifying to put it into words._

_"Kyle? Kyle?!" At that moment, Toolshed could not care less about hero names and identities, immediately he burst out his friend's real name. "What happened there, Kyle?"_

_The redhead was still at shock, but he shook his head_ _— green eyes closed momentarily_ _— then he tried blurting out some explanation that came out rather clumsy and hectic. "St-Stan. . . J-Jesus Christ," Kyle exhaled, "I saw ch-children. . . I couldn't save them, a-a-and they were cry. . ." a hiccup, "_ _—crying, and they were in f-flames, Stan and_ _— a-and," at some point, the redhead didn't realise he was crying so hard. Yet he continued, "They were screaming for h-help and there were other people too. . . Adults maybe? But they were too busy saving the-their asses to even care. . . Uh," his body shook from the waves of morose coming from his sight._

_Toolshed pulled him to a tight embrace immediately. "Hey, hey Kyle! It's okay, it's okay. . ." he mumbled, whispering comfort to his best friend, "It's not your fault."_

_"I kn-know, but. . ."_

_"No, look at me!" Glossy emerald eyes against a pair of cool deep, royal blue, "You did good on finding about them," he cupped both of Kyle's cheeks and squeezed using his palms. Stan's hands were warm, and it helped the redhead in the process._

_Still, he sighed and shoulders slumped, he whispered between small tears. "I_ _— I still can't. . . I saw the children dying_ _— I saw some of them dead, Stan." The two of them were pulled in complete silence afterwards._

_It took a few seconds for Kyle to regain his composure, as for his lithe body was still quivering slightly. The tears stopped but the thoughtful look remained in his expression. "I saw something else too. Like, something that felt out of place from all those people running around. I mean," he sniffled, "The children couldn't escape because they were all in cages_ _—"_

_"They were what?!"_

_"_ _— Yeah, cages. You heard me right," the both of them scowled, "They were locked up and they couldn't escape. Hm, I think they're chained too? I mean, all they do was clinging against the bars."_

_"Jesus fuck_ _—"_

_"Let me continue." A dejected look slipped by his expression, but there was something else too. "And then, there were these. . . I don't know how to describe them. Shadows? Smokes? Purple, translucent wisps that goes around the cages," he stopped briefly, remembering all the scenes in his head, "It was, was as if they were trying to free the children from the cages but_ _— but they just couldn't, uh uh_ _— I don't know, man. They were fast, though. That's for sure."_

_Toolshed pursed his lips, rolling his eyes in the process of thoughts, "What makes you think it's a person?"_

_"What else could it be?" The redhead seemed dissatisfied upon his friend's reaction._

_"I mean, those children who were kidnapped should be B-Types, yes?" On which Kyle nodded, he resumed his debate, "So, what if those shadows_ _— or smoke, or whatever_ _— came from one of the children trying to escape?"_

_Toolshed seemed glad at his attempt of displaying his thought. But Kyle Brovloski had always been an ace student since high school, even now when they were in university he wasn't easily let down by other people. And just because Stan had a good opinion doesn't mean he didn't have a counter-argument up his sleeves. Instead, he scoffed at the statement, "Then, they could've escaped earlier than waiting for the building to be in flames. No?"_

_"Maybe they're waiting for a right time?"_

_Kyle's turn to roll his eyes. His friend could be stupid sometimes, most of the times. "Nu uh!"_

_"Could be!"_

_"Nu uh!"_

_"I said it could be_ _—"_

_"Boys, if you prefer arguing like kids I suggest you leave to the HQ now," a female voice piped mid-argument, displeased and tensed evident in her tone, in their communication log (since Stan wasn't a Holos user, and only equipped himself with an earpiece telecommunication device stuck on his right ear), "Report your condition, please." She sounded tired, perhaps from analysing other heroes on other regions. Sounded easy, yes, but keeping humans in check wasn't exactly a pleasant job._

_For once, it was Stan who took the job on replying the status request. Once upon a time, Stan was a bundle of nerves when it comes to his used-to-be girlfriend, coming out all bleary and nerve-wrecking and a mumbling mess, perhaps in mid-conversation he would feel the waves of nausea and urgent need of vomiting. Now, Toolshed was clear and cool with his report. "Not so good," he groaned, a normal groan though, "Candidates aside, there's an explosion happening on Summerlin."_

_"What?" Call Girl's tone leaned towards disbelief than surprised. Given a few seconds, her voice returned with a "This doesn't look good," she must have researched from one of her devices, it was her power, "Have you contacted fire department and police?"_

_"I did when I was on my way," Human Kite answered from the sidelines._

_"Okay, good. I'm reporting this to the council. You guys. . ."_ _There was heaviness in her voice, the noirette wasn't even sure if it was just about fatigue anymore. "You guys should head over there and investigate as well. And um, Stan. . .?"_

_The two heroes looked at each confusedly (Kyle was throwing a smirk at the noirette, much to his dismay), "Yeah, Wendy?"_

_"You're an asshole, but please stay safe."_

_That was it. The redhead threw himself to a fit of giggles, and Toolshed_ _— although red-faced and a little bit taken aback_ _— felt the swell in his chest as he quietly muttered his thanks._

"Status report, please."

Kyle is awaken by the crackling buzzes of his communication log. It is getting so much annoying now, just how many times Call Girl is asking for status report when they are still tucked in a cranky bed. His back feels shitty, but warm coming from the source of heat beside him. The two of them, since they are what they determine themselves as budget university students, decided to share a room together. Somehow, they ended up in a queen-sized bedroom so what other choice do they have but to share beds?

Here is another problem; Stan starts sleeping shirtless nowadays. Kyle doesn't want to fuel the burning in his chest, but oh Lord, when the duvet is pulled down, Stan with his eyes closed and lips apart slightly, going downwards to reveal a chiseled figure from all the football and gym workout. He looks good, just saying, despite some marks tainting his body that screams out pain all over. As the noirette grows, he grows tall and well-proportioned. Maybe that is why Human Kite relies on his flying abilities. Ever since his kidnapping scenario, whatever B-Type DNA in his body stunts his height (although he is relatively taller than an average girl's height by a few inches) and turns his body lanky. Rather, most of the times, Kyle just feels insecure of his body when comparing to the noirette.

The buzzing continues again. "Stan? Kyle? What's going on?!"

"We're fine," Kyle groggily speaks out. It's about eight-thirty and he still feels sluggish, tired and incapable of moving. "We're just, uh, we just need some time to heal."

"Do you have the P-biomeds?" Her annoyance immediately turns to concern.

The P-biomed is an engineered medication via injection that immediately seals all internal wounds and boosts up platelets and supplies sufficient red blood cells to the user. The injection also increase the production of serotonin, dopamine and GABA — fueling the adrenaline at a faster rate. Apparently, they only have one in supply (because they didn't think scouting candidates would actually require any fights). So Kyle has pretty much give his last supply to the noirette due to a pretty large horizontal gash across his belly from last night.

They did not expect the runaways would react violently upon their presence. Short to say, one of the horned mask-wielders yells a sort of signal to the other members and the Pyramid people rounded them, which lead to a bloody mess.

Kyle stares at the slashing mark against his left lower arm, running a sloppy straight line till his elbow. It does stings, and the only support he has is a ripped cloth coming from their suit. He isn't sure if his has stopped bleeding but the stinging sensation cause his left arm to be temporarily unused for now. His healing is not helping, somehow, not that his healing power is as prominent as a healer-type hero. But it should have done some justice. Kyle wonders why.

"Ky?" Stan's low voice hums against the pillow. One hand approaches his shoulder, and the long fingers grip to use Kyle as a support as Stan pulls himself up and suddenly swings one arm to wrap around his waist. The redhead blushes at the notion, but he knows Stan means it as a friendly gesture. It's only when the noirette leans his face against his back that Kyle starts getting warmer on the cheeks. "Man, I thought I'd lose you last night."

Kyle peels himself from the hold to look his friend straight on the face. Ginger locks disheveled and brows arched to a baffled angle, "Me? You should have took a look at yourself, dude."

"I have my med, but you —"

"Am fine," Kyle scowls. He hates being babied at, just like his mother would do.

Stan isn't so convinced still. But the moment is disrupted again when this time around, Token's voice appears in the log. "Status report; Mosquito and I are coming to you guys for a biomed delivery and. . . well, to check the shit that happens last night."

"Oh boy, I heard it went nasty," there is Clyde beside Token, the two of them think. And his stupid voice rings in the comms, "They were mad at you guys, huh?"

"They thought we were the invaders," Kyle scowls, and flinches when Stan's hold becomes too tight, "They thought we were the ones who cause the explosion."

"Maybe next time, peel off your badge." The ginger rolls his eyes at the sarcastic comment but contemplates on doing it anyway.

It takes them approximately two hours on getting ready and meeting up with the three candidates they were in charge with. Atropos, Violet Viper and Meltdowner. The three of them seems to have waited for so long, since Atropos looks even more impatient and the spiky-haired hero bears the expression of wanting to actually explode the two heroes on purpose. Only Violet Viper has the initiative to look as if the day will be alright, and she flinches at the fact that Human Kite is holding a limp left arm.

Atropos gives them an odd look, but surely the mood lightens to a confused, curious state. "What happened?"

"An investigation went wrong," Stan sighs, "It's good that we didn't ask you to join us."

"We could have been a better support," Meltdowner mumbles to nobody but himself, but the ginger catches the sound of it and he gives the spike-haired candidate a long stare.

As for Kellie, who does not comment anything about them, dares herself to step closer to the ginger. Kyle looks at her curiously, but does not retaliate when she softly touches his arm and suddenly a sprout of long leaves, its follicles tickling his skin,wrapping around his wound. "Aloe, huh?"

"It's what I could do the slightest," she grins, scratching her face from sheer nervousness.

Kyle softens up and smiles at her, "Thanks."

* * *

As much as he hates it, Mysterion lands himself upon the burnt structure once again. Bass Bomber trails behind him, still with her hood and skirt but dons a new mask and beanie covering her dirty blonde locks. Half of the building is left with nothing but the metallic beams and joints, even those were hanging limply and crisply obsidian from the wildfire. From the rubble, Kenny could make out the shape of those who were once children. The steel bars have melted from the high heat, except for the base that turns to a rusty-reddish hue mixing in with black and dirt brown. The bodies are horrifying, Kenny does not wish to describe anything from the sight.

He sucks in a breath, against the ionised air that smells like ashes and old rubble. "Damn," his voice wavers.

Bass Bomber shifts a guilty glance. She has been quiet the entire time they reach to the place again. This time, she makes no attempt on calming the other blond, instead she crouches and her hand shakily passes over the ashes. Her body suddenly trembles tremendously. From the corner of his azure eyes, he notice the slight movement transitioning to a whole shiver.

Kenny holds her by her shoulders. "It's not your fault."

"No, no," Paz isn't crying. No, she's too shook to cry. The guilt swallowing her becomes a monster that stops her from crying, as if she deserves no place to lay her tears here. "I did this. . . I did the explosion and, and now —"

The blond tightens his grip and pushes her to have her glare straight upon his face. His hoarse voice starts speaking, "Come on, this isn't the only mistake you'll ever make. And even if you did a lot of mistakes, you have a good intention on wanting to help them out," Kenny grins, "Besides, you kick the bastard straight on the nuts real good."

Paz snorts out a laughter, "I bust his face, not his balls."

"Eh, it's still one of his assets."

"But seriously," the seriousness returns on her expression, "What are we supposed to do now?"

The two of them, standing in the midst of burnt corpses and construction pieces. Clueless as they are, there is nothing more they could do now. As much as Mysterion wants to hunt down the last members of Pyramid, his sister must have been crazy worry.

"I'm going home," is all he said as he releases the pink-hooded girl. Smiling sheepishly, he retreats a few steps as a mean of seeing her some other time, but then he feels a pressure coming from his back.

Things goes south afterwards. It's a gun, and not just a normal gun but an overdeveloped piece of technology that should only belong by heroes. Frozen stiff, Mysterion tries to make out the words coming from behind his back. From his line of vision, there are another two heroes from behind Bass Bomber who are also rendered stiff and her arms raised.

"I suppose you're Mysterion, correct?" The hero speaks smoothly. "Don't move or we have to pin you down."

Now, Mysterion is not really a man of rationality. Knowing that he has more than nine lives, the blond leans more toward recklessness and pure experimental. This is one of those times when he decides to be a fucked-up idiot who would bust his own balls to see new possibility. So, what Kenny does has nothing to do with obeying orders. Instead, he presses his foot down to the hero behind him, shoulders the man straight on his gut — he receives an extremely loud reaction from the blow, and he concludes that the belly area is currently a weak point — then aims his foot, raising one to kick the hero on the centre once again. But upon a split second when he is about to direct the kick, he feels his head going woozy, and his peripheral vision blurs down. Suddenly, he smells like rusty copper and sawdust. Then, all he sees is red.

Meanwhile, the heroes are panicking to what they have done.

"Ky, what the fuck? You killed Mysterion!"

"I'm sorry, I'm a bastard!"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAWW I NOTICED Y'ALL ARE GIVING FANARTS! I'M JUST SO HAPPY LIKE NAWW ALL OF YOU ARE SO ACTIVE I'M CRYING I LOVE YOU ALL. Let's make a NEO Community everyone mwahahahah
> 
> And well, I think I should compile all art for now :) Cause it's just. . . I'm so touched that you guys are willing to draw each other! And I'd love to contribute too!
> 
> So yeah, The Crazy Jackalope has made a Discord group to everyone who has their OCs approved! But the link expired and I am waiting for the response. I will update later when I receive the invite again (sorry Jack)
> 
> Anyway, Yasha means to live forever in Russian but means a demon in Japanese. He is fourteen and bears a face of an oni. As for Alan, his name means harmony, stone or noble in Celtic hence he actually has an ability of stone-bending of some sort. Masuri is my favourite actually, since her name is taken by a Malay folklore of a girl who was killed and had white blood. White blood symbolises that she is actually innocent. So here, Masuri is a symbolism for all children that no matter what their type are, children are still children.
> 
> ART TRIBUTE!
> 
> JustOzThings :
> 
> cheerycocacola . tumblr post /174838588523
> 
> Logical_Dreamer :
> 
> www . flickr photos/ 159674384 N05/ 28160012427/ in/ dateposted-friend/
> 
> www . flickr photos/ 159674384 N05/ 28181005177 /in/ dateposted-friend/
> 
> www . flickr photos/ 159674384 N05/ 41272043510 /in/dateposted-friend/
> 
> TheCrazyJackalope :
> 
> cdn . discordapp attachments /370015481018712066 /446083483866103836 /image . jpg
> 
> cdn . discordapp attachments /429710060806209546 /472189116046508042 /652A1EFA-582A-43B8-ACDA-1E0E100352CC . jpeg


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